


Though the Heavens Fall

by freyjaschariot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Crime Fighting, Drama, F/M, Loss, Tragedy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjaschariot/pseuds/freyjaschariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After personal tragedy tears Oliver and Felicity apart, Felicity moves to Gotham to start over. Two years pass but neither of them can seem to move on. Then, a new menace rises in Star City, Felicity is pulled back into a life she thought she’d left behind. Will the worst threat the city’s faced in years bring these two back together? Or will it just push them even farther apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oy vey. So I think this fic is my brain rebelling against all the fluff I've been writing lately. Also that new Adele song's got me feeling super angsty. Which led to this story. The current rating is mature but that might be bumped up in future chapters, for both violence and hanky panky reasons. Depends how frisky I'm feeling as the the fic progresses. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! I love to hear from you guys.

The Chateau du Monde. 

Favored restaurant of Gotham’s rich and famous. Five star Zagat rating. Owned by Bruce Wayne and frequented by the billionaire and his rotating entourage of models and socialites. A six month waiting list for a reservation. Three massive chandeliers. Long neck candles on every table. A violin quartet and a sommelier in a three piece suit. The crème de la crème of Gotham eateries, pun very much intended. 

Felicity wasn’t really feeling it. 

She hadn’t felt this apathetic about a date since that swimmer in college had invited her for “a fun night out” that ended with her sitting on the pool deck while he practiced his flip turns. Felicity kept telling herself that her lack of enthusiasm was just because she’d had a long day--nine hours of merger talk with the people from LexCorp will wear on a person--and not the fact that she shouldn’t have agreed to the date at all. That this was all happening too soon. That she wasn’t ready.

_It’s been almost two years, Felicity. Move on._

As a waitress bent over the table to refill their water glasses Felicity stole a glance at Ted over the top of her menu. What was wrong with her? Her date was tall and handsome, with a thick head of hair and dark eyes that crinkled around the edges when he smiled. Not to mention wildly intelligent-- the founder of his own tech conglomerate, Kord Industries. Oh, and then there was the fact that he was great in bed. Which she knew because they’d been sleeping together for months, ever since they first butted heads in a business meeting back in July. They were good old fashion friends with benefits. Just sex. No cuddling. No cooking each breakfast in the morning.

Or at least, they had been old fashion friends with benefits. Until a week ago when, in the middle of an afternoon quickie in the private bathroom in Felicity’s office, Ted had pulled back from kissing her neck and said in a serious tone that he didn’t use very often, “Come to dinner with me.”

She’d said no. Of course she’d said no. She wasn’t look to date, wasn’t looking for a relationship. Then later that day she’d been standing in the grocery store checkout aisle and her eyes had fell on a tabloid cover featuring a glossy photo of Oliver and one of his political aids. The small dark haired one. Monica, if Felicity remembered correctly. Oliver was leaning toward her, his hand on her elbow, whispering something in her ear while she laughed. The headline read: _Mayor Queen Moves On?_

It was stupid, Felicity knew. To agree to a date just because some trash magazine claimed Oliver was sleeping with one of his assistants. Felicity knew better than anyone that 99% of tabloid stories were complete bullshit. And even if it was true, Oliver moving on didn’t mean that Felicity had to. She knew this. And yet somehow that hadn’t stopped her from leaving her groceries on the belt to call Ted from the parking lot. 

“I changed my mind,” she said. “About dinner. Let’s do it.”

So now here they were, sipping from a $200 bottle of wine at the fanciest restaurant in the city, avoiding each other’s gazes and shifting uncomfortably in their seats like two people who hadn’t spent the last three month rolling around in each other’s beds. 

“So,” Ted said, as the waitress finally backed away. “Um. How was your day?”

Felicity made a face. 

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” 

Two leggy supermodel swept by their table, their long evening dresses rustling with tiny embroidered pearls. Felicity pulled self-consciously at the cuffs of her polka dot blazer. She hadn’t had a chance to change after work and her cute jacket, pencil skirt outfit suddenly felt like a potato sack. Felicity caught a glimpse of her reflection in the back of her spoon and grimaced. Her eyeliner was completely smudged and her lipstick was nothing but a mauve memory.

“Hey, are you alright, Smoak?” Ted asked. 

“What?” Felicity tore her eyes away from the spoon. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just...feeling a little underdressed. It’s nothing.” The maître d passed by, leading the Mayor of Gotham and his third wife to their usual table in the back corner. 

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Ted ran a hand down his face. “All my friends said this place was too fancy for a first date but I didn’t listen.

“No,” Felicity protested. “It’s not too much. It’s, um...” 

Ted glanced around at the quartet waxing mournfully behind them. “Felicity, I’m pretty sure those violinists think it’s 1912 and the Titanic’s about to go down. You know what--” he threw his napkin on table “--let’s forget this. We’re scientific people. We can recalibrate. There’s a Big Belly Burger two blocks over. How do burgers and shakes sound?”

Felicity’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Honestly? That sounds perfect.”

Fifteen minutes later Felicity was sinking her teeth into the best Double Belly Buster (extra pickles, hold the mayo) she’d eaten in her life. She let out a moan of pleasure. Across the table Ted raised an eyebrow. 

“Like that, do you?”

“Es it’s awful, I hate it,” Felicity said through a mouthful. She swallowed and took a long drag on her chocolate milkshake. As she drained the frothy dregs from the bottom of her glass, her eyes flicked to the television flickering above the bar. It was set to channel 5 news.

_Huh._

That was a Star City news channel. The reporter looked like he was at some kind of ribbon cutting ceremony. Probably for the new police headquarters, Felicity realized. She’d read about it online. After their old one had been shot up more times than she could count, SCPD was finally getting a new building. About damn time, she thought. 

Felicity was about to look away when he walked into the frame.

The straw slipped from her lips. 

After almost two years, the tightening in her chest when she saw Oliver was more of a dull throb than the raw, ever-present ache she had lived with for the first few months after the break up. She noted this with a detached sense of awareness, like a doctor recording the progression of a disease. Was this because she was finally moving on or if she’d just gotten better at compartmentalizing?

_Probably the second one. Almost definitely the second one._

On the TV, someone handed Oliver a pair of comically large scissors. He smiled and laughed but that didn’t stop Felicity from noting the shadows under his eyes and the slight slump in his posture. They were just tiny things but to her they were giant neon signs telling her he’d been up all night at his second job. The slightly less legal one.

“Excuse me-- ” Felicity hailed their waitress as she passed “--would you mind putting on the game?”

“Sure, hon. Which game did you want?”

“Um...whichever one is on right now?”

The waitress raised an eyebrow. 

Ted was watching her with an inscrutable expression. She thought she saw a flash of something-- _pity? worry?_ \-- but then he turned to the waitress and said, “the Rangers-Jays game just started. We’re big fans. Thanks.” 

“Not from around here, are you,” the waitress said wryly. But she slipped away and a minute later Oliver was replaced by the baseball game.

Felicity hoped Ted didn’t notice her letting out her breath. She carefully avoided his gaze, swirling a french fry around a puddle of ketchup, her appetite all but gone. Dropping the French fry, Felicity flashed Ted a smile. “Hey, I’m stuffed. Want to go for a walk before my zipper pops?”

Ted took her redirection in stride. “Sure,” he said, pulling out his wallet and dropping a five on the table for tip. “Although I wouldn’t object to any zipper popping either.”

“I thought that’s what this night was all about,” Felicity teased, shrugging on her jacket. “To see if we could be about more than zipper popping.”

Felicity couldn’t help noticing how easily Ted smiled. He smiled often, and without thinking. She had been like that once. Not so much anymore. 

“That’s exactly what it’s about.” Still smiling, he stood and offered her his hand. 

It was brisk night, but not too cold to be outside. Leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked along the river, listening to the water shush through the reeds at the edge of the bank. The moon hung like a chipped tooth in the star speckled sky. Two swans drifted by, luminous in the darkness.

Felicity could tell Ted wanted to hold her hand but she wasn’t quite there yet so she pushed her hands into the pockets in her jacket and pretended not to notice his eyes following them as they disappeared.

They talked about work mostly, which was unsurprising since that was where they’d met, a year and a half after Felicity had moved to Gotham to be Wayne Enterprise’s new head of Developmental Technology. Ted had tried to get her to buy a bundle shipment of Kord Industries new fiber optic lenses. Felicity replied there was no way she was buying anything from him until he dropped the suit claiming Wayne Enterprises had stolen the codes for its new cyber security software. The suit was just a delaying tactic, meant to keep the software off the market until Kord Industries could release their own bastardized version.

“And how can you be so sure of that?” Ted had asked, eyes sparkling.

“Because I wrote the damn code myself,” she replied. 

Now here they were, walking down the river side by side, the lights glimmering on the dark water. And it felt good. Nice. Felicity felt light and relatively carefree for the first time in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, this hadn’t been a huge mistake. Maybe she was ready to try again. Maybe everything that had happened with Oliver hadn’t left her as irreparably damaged as she’d thought.

An hour later when Ted walked her to the front stoop of her apartment building, Felicity hesitated on the top stair, wondering if he was going to kiss her. The fact that she was worried about a kiss seemed ridiculous considering they’d done pretty much everything else already but somehow she was. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hand nervously jangling her keys in her pocket. “I had a really good time tonight.” 

“Does that mean you’d be open to date number 2? I’m thinking somewhere less fancy than The Chateau but slightly more upscale than Big Belly Burger.”

Felicity tapped her chin, pretending to think about it. “I’ll consider it. Tell your people to call my people.” A sudden gust of wind swept down the street and sent the hem of her coat flapping around her legs. Felicity sucked air through her teeth, surprised by the biting cold. 

Ted backed away from the stoop as leaves swirled around his ankles. “You’re a tough cookie to crack, Smoak.” 

No kiss then. Felicity couldn’t tell whether she was relieved or disappointed. She smiled down at him. “I am. But I’m worth it.” 

“Hey, you don’t have to convince me.”

Felicity watched him slide into the front seat of his car before letting herself into the apartment. Upstairs, she shucked her heels, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed with a glass of her new favorite red (a 2009 Castaño Monastrell, plummy, with notes black pepper and a palatable $10 price tag) and her laptop. “Alright, Nancy,” she said to the computer, “let’s take a look-see at what our criminal friends are up to tonight. How does that sound?”

Sipping her wine, Felicity pulled up the Star City Police and Fire bulletin and scrolled through the new entries. She might have left Star City behind but she couldn’t help checking in every few days to see how things were going. She was like an anxious parent whose child had gone away to college, whose affairs she tried to micromanage from afar. Only in Felicity’s case she was the one who’d left so maybe that wasn’t such a great metaphor after all. 

The bulletin was short. A couple of muggings. An three alarm fire at a chemical warehouse in the Triangle. A stabbing outside a bar in the South End. Almost all of the incidents had been quick open, shut cases but Felicity felt a detectivey mood coming on so she set her wine glass on the nightstand, quickly hacked into the SCPD system, and helped herself to the files of the detectives who had worked the warehouse fire case. 

Felicity’s eyes flickered across the screen.

Fire crews had arrived at the scene at approximately 9 pm to find heavy smoke and flames coming from the building. The fire had engulfed a laboratory measuring about 7 meters by 5 meters, in close proximity to a production and storage area. There had only been one person inside at the time of the blast-- the longtime foreman. The man died of smoke inhalation and injuries sustained in the blast en route to the hospital. The fire marshal hadn’t found any clear indication of what caused the explosions to take place however there were no sign of foul play and the fire had been ruled accidental. 

Felicity read through the report a second time to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. Usually if she thought she could add something to the investigation she put together a file and sent it anonymously to Captain Lance, knowing he’d pass it on to the team. Not that she actually thought they wouldn’t figure out where information came from. Somehow, it was just easier that way.

Tonight, at least, Felicity had nothing to contribute. Nothing stuck out as suspicious. There was just the niggling feeling in her gut that something wasn’t quite right. Felicity quickly drained the rest of her glass and shut her laptop a tad harder than necessary. Grimacing, she patted the top of the machine. “Sorry, Nancy. I didn’t mean it.”

Felicity fell back against her pillow with a slight huff. She should get up and brush her teeth but that would require getting out of bed and bed was so lovely and comfy and warm. Her mind turned over the events of the day. All in all things had gone pretty well-- her first date in two years and it had only been sixty percent disastrous. She liked Ted. She liked Ted a lot. So why was it Oliver’s face she couldn’t get out of her mind? If his appearance at the ribbon cutting ceremony was anything to go by he was not getting enough sleep. Who was running the comms tonight? Dig? Thea? If Oliver was sleep deprived he’d need an especially level headed person in his ear. 

_It’s not your responsibility any more. Go to sleep._

Sighing, Felicity rolled onto her side and switched off the light.

It was a long time before she managed to push his face from her mind and even longer before sleep finally took her.


	2. Chapter 2

“They got away.” Oliver strode into the lair and slammed his bow down on the table. 

Dig looked up from the computer where he was running the comms. “Thea got one. She’s dropping him off at the precinct as we speak.” 

Oliver nodded tersely. Well that was good at least. “Maybe he’ll rat on the others.” 

He and Thea had been patrolling the docks after getting a tip off from Lance that the Triad was operating a human trafficking ring under the guise of a shrimp importing business. The Triad had failed to show up— instead they’d stumbled right into the middle of a drug deal going down behind a stack of shipping containers at the end of the east pier. The perps had scattered and there had been too many to chase them all down.

“We can hope.” Dig pulled off his earpiece and lounged back in his chair. “Do you remember that fire in the Triangle last weekend?”

Oliver glanced up from unzipping the top of his suit. “The one at the chemical warehouse?”

Dig nodded. “I dug into it a bit.”

Oliver’s brow furrowed. “Why? The fire marshal ruled it accidental.”

“They did. But I had a weird feeling about it so I talked to Mike Daley’s daughter—the foreman who was killed in the explosion,” he explained when Oliver gave him a blank look. “She said the only reason her father was at the factory that night was because he got a call from the security company about a break-in.”

Oliver’s head was pounding. His limbs felt like lead. He should have been able to catch at least one of the dealers but he had been off his game, sluggish. For weeks he’d been running on four or five hours of sleep. Apparently it was beginning to catch up with him. He shook his head, fighting back the urge to yawn. “So?” 

“So I had Lance put in a call to the security company,” Dig said. “According to them, there was no break-in. The alarm never went off.”

It took a moment but eventually the pieces started to click together. “You think the call was a fake? Someone lured the foreman to the warehouse and then set it on fire?”

Dig shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m making mountains out of mole hills. But something just doesn’t feel right, man. And there’s been a bunch of other cases recently where I’ve had the same feeling—like things just don’t quite add up.”

Oliver frowned as he grabbed a t-shirt from the bag of street clothes he kept in the lair. “Like what?”

“That woman whose balcony gave out in Adams Heights?” Dig said. “The apartment manager said they’d just finished a full building inspection. There was nothing wrong with the balcony the day before she fell. And then there were those brothers shot behind the club in Lamb Valley. Their mother said they got a call from a friend asking for a ride home but when they showed up—”

“No friend,” Oliver guessed. 

Dig nodded again. “And they both end up dead in an alleyway. No suspects. Seems like an awful lot of coincidences to me.”

Oliver ran a hand down his face. “Not every death is murder.”

“No,” Dig allowed. “But in this city enough of them are to make me suspicious. I just think it’s worth looking into. Run a cross-check on the victims or something. See if they had anything in common.”

“Fine,” Oliver said, too tired to think about it any further. “Do it.”

Dig paused then said, “Well, I would, Oliver, but I’m not a tech guy. This is kind of beyond me. Beyond any of us, I’m guessing.”

Oliver tensed halfway through shrugging on his leather jacket. “What are you saying, John?” 

“I think you know what I’m saying. We could really use Felicity’s help on this one.”

How was it possible that the mere mention of her name could steal the breath from his body faster than a punch to the gut? Oliver didn’t pause to think. “No.”

“I know you’re not exactly on good terms—”

Oliver held up a hand, cutting him off. “It’s not about that, Dig. She chose to leave. She wanted away from...all this.”

_From me._

“Man, are you really gonna pretend like we don’t know where Lance gets his intell from? Felicity might have left the city but she still cares about what happens here. She’d want to help.”

“We have no right to drag her back here,” Oliver said stiffly.

Diggle raised an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. “Are you saying that for her sake? Or for yours?”

They stared each other down for a moment. Then Oliver turned away. He was too tired for this. He hefted his bag onto his shoulder and headed for the garage. “I’m done talking about it. Tell Thea she can head out as soon as she’s dropped off that perp.”

“Oliver—” Dig called after him.

Oliver didn’t look back. 

Going sixty on his Ducati it only took him five minutes to get home from the lair. 

_Home._

That was a generous term for his living situation. 

After everything that had happened Oliver hadn’t wanted to stay in the loft alone. Without Felicity’s presence filling it up the open floor plan had felt cavernous and cold. Oliver had considered asking Thea if she wanted to move back in with him but in the end he’d decided against it. His sister was young. She had her own life and he had no right to latch onto her just because he’d grown unaccustomed to living alone. 

He ended up renting a small one bedroom in a complex in Orchid Bay only a few blocks from City Hall. The building was quiet. Clean. And pet friendly, Thea had pointed out when they’d done a walk through before he signed the lease. 

“You could get a dog.”

He gave her a look. “I don’t have time for a dog.”

“A cat then.”

“Thea.”

“A goldfish. Come on, Ollie. Live a little.”

A week after Oliver moved in he came home to find three colorful tropical fish swimming in a large tank on his kitchen table. According to the note Thea left beside the tank, their names were Mo, Larry, and Curly—a callback to the hours the two of them had spent watching The Three Stooges as kids. 

_They need to be fed twice a day. I left the food on the counter. The tank is self-cleaning. Try not to have too much fun, ok?_

Now when Oliver let himself into the apartment he was met by the soft blue glow of the tank cutting through the darkness. He tipped some food into the water and headed for the bathroom. A shower turned out to be exactly what he needed. The pounding water and steam coaxed some of the tension from his shoulders and eased the pounding in his temple.

Oliver had just dried off and pulled on a pair of sweatpants when the doorbell rang. He was considering ignoring it when a familiar voice called, “Ollie, open up. I know you’re in there.”

Oliver pulled open the door. “Thea?”

His sister brushed past him, holding up a large white take-out bag. “Sichuan Gourmet . They put in an extra order of egg rolls and there is absolutely no way I can eat all this by myself.”

Oliver smiled as he shut the door behind her. “I guess I can take one for the team.”

“My hero.” She glanced at him over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. “Do you still have the duck sauce from last time? They didn’t put any in.”

“Blasphemy.”

“I know!”

They ate siting on the living room floor, pulling dumplings and egg rolls straight from the containers. 

“I saw the article about you and Monica,” Thea said lightly, stealing a glance at Oliver over the top of the carton of moo shu.

Oliver snorted. He wouldn’t call anything published by The Daily Star an article. Toilet paper, maybe. Even that was generous.

“So...what’s up with you two?” 

“Nothing,” Oliver said firmly, hoping to shut down the conversation before it started. “She works for me. That’s it.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be. She likes you, you know.”

“Thea.” 

“I’m just saying, you guys seem like you could really get along. Like outside of a professional sense, I mean. It doesn’t have to be anything serious. Just a drink every now and then—”

“I said no,” Oliver growled. 

They sat in silence for a minute, the relaxed atmosphere suddenly pulled taut. An ambulance whined by on the street below. 

Thea poked dejectedly at her moo shu. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just think you deserve another shot at being happy. Is that so bad?”

“I am happy,” Oliver said dully. His tone was so incongruous with the statement that he almost laughed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I know you’re just trying to help.” He searched around for new topic of conversation. “Was Lance grateful for his present? I assumed you wrapped the guy up with a bow for him.”

“Oh yeah,” Thea said airily. “I’ll be expecting a thank you card any day now.”

When Oliver walked Thea to the door half an hour later she gave his arm a tight squeeze. “I’ve got your back, bro. You know that right?”

“I do. Thank you.”

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Mayor.”

“Good night, Speedy.”

Oliver put the leftovers in his otherwise empty fridge and dropped their cups into the sink to deal with in the morning. As he wandered into the bedroom Thea’s words replayed in his head. 

_You deserve another shot at being happy._

Oliver appreciated the sentiment but in the end it didn’t matter if he was deserving or not. He’d had everything he ever wanted and somehow he’d let it slip away. 

Oliver found himself standing in front of his closet, staring down at the three cardboard boxes shoved against the wall behind the neat row of suits. One box was full of cookbooks—somehow the endeavor had lost its appeal without someone other than himself to cook for. The second held all the odds and ends that had been salvaged from the ashes after the Queen Mansion burnt to the ground. 

And the third— 

Oliver pulled it out and stared down it. The box had been opened and resealed so many times that the layer of packing tape keeping it shut was half an inch thick.

 _Don’t do it,_ the voice in the back of his head warned. _You’ll regret it. You know you will._

Oliver kept a Swiss army knife in the top drawer of his bedside table. The small blade made quick work of the tape and he pushed back the flaps. 

Her favorite MIT sweatshirt.

A few mismatched earrings. 

A chipped Return of the Jedi coffee mug. 

The ninth season of Doctor Who on Blu-Ray.

Oliver fished out the small velvet box that held his mother’s ring. He kept meaning to do something with it. Give it to Thea, or something. He definitely had no use for it. Not anymore. But every time he tried something stopped him. It had only been Felicity’s for five months but somehow the thought of anyone’ else wearing it, even his sister, seemed wrong. 

_That's stupid. It’s just a piece of jewelry._

Oliver set the ring aside, recommitting himself to giving it to Thea the next time he saw her, and turned back to the box.

There was only one thing left. 

Oliver picked up the sonogram and held it up to the light. The image was small, just 4 inches by 4 inches. And there wasn’t much to it really. Just a small black kidney bean swimming in a sea of grey and white static. Felicity had only been three weeks along when it was taken. Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, Oliver flipped it over. The note on the back was short. It had only taken him two reads to memorize the entire thing.

_Oliver— so that happened._

_Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just wanted to be sure._

_You’re happy right? I bet you are, you big sap._

_We’ll talk when I get home from work._

_I love you._

  
_-F_  


Oliver thumbed the light grooves where Felicity’s pen had pressed into the photo paper. He could picture her bent over the kitchen counter in the loft writing the words. She’d have been chewing her lip, a little crease between her eyebrows. The morning light catching in her hair.

The surge of longing was sharp and sudden. Oliver dropped the sonogram as if it had burned him and shoved the box back into the recesses of the closet. Then he scooted back a foot, his head falling back against the edge of the bed.

In the back of his head the small voice sighed.

_I told you you’d regret it._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance since this chapter is a little heavy on set up. But it's all necessary and there's also a lot of Dig/Felicity which I love so maybe I'm not so sorry afterall :P Think of it as the calm before the storm. I hope you enjoy it!

The doorbell rang for the second time just as Felicity was turning on her Keurig. Grumbling softly, she shuffled to the door in her slippers and yanked it open. 

“For the last time, Mrs. Probinsky, I didn’t take your newspaper—”

Unless Felicity’s neighbor had grown two feet and become a man in the last fifteen minutes the person at her door was not Mrs. Probinsky.

It was John Diggle.

“Hi, Felicity.”

Felicity squeezed her eyes shut, sure she was hallucinating. When she opened them he was still there, standing on her stoop in the same brown leather jacket he’d been wearing the last time she’d seen him, over two years ago. “You’re here,” she said stupidly. 

He watched her with an amused expression. “It would seem so.”

“Why?” Felicity blurted. “Not that I’m not happy to see you. I am. Happy to see you, I mean. I’m just surprised. It’s been...a long time.”

“Two years,” Dig agreed. “You don’t call, you don’t write. You don’t answer my phone calls. If I didn’t know any better, Smoak, I’d think you were trying to avoid me.”

Felicity grimaced. After she left Star City she had all but cut off contact with everyone from her old life, including Dig. At first because it had just been too painful but after...in her rare moments of self-reflection Felicity knew it was because she was scared. Scared of dredging up the past. Scared that her friends might be angry at her for leaving without saying goodbye. Scared of the fact that she had let them down. Felicity had always viewed herself as a brave person—someone willing to take a risk. But when it came to facing the disappointment of those she loved she found that her courage abandoned her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I almost visited. A few times. But then work got busy and—”

Dig put his hand on her arm. He was smiling. “It’s okay, Felicity. Believe it or not I did not come here to guilt trip you.”

She shook her head, smiling tentatively back at him. “Why are you here?”

“Army reunion,” Dig said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold air. “A few of my buddies from the platoon moved here a couple years ago. We try to get together every now and then. Reminisce. I thought I’d look you up while I was here. Come say hi.”

“Well, hi then,” Felicity said. A gust of wind blustered down the street, whipping the dry leaves into small tornados that spun out across the pavement. Felicity tugged her sweater tighter around her shoulders. “You wanna come inside? It’s freezing out here.”

Felicity glanced back at Dig as he followed her into the kitchen. “Coffee?” 

“Please.”

As Felicity busied herself pulling down two mugs from the cupboard Dig sank into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and glanced around the apartment. The décor was quintessential Felicity. Brightly colored pillows lined the couch. An elliptical sat in the corner of the living room. Movie posters festooned the walls. But something was off about it and it took Dig a minute to figure out what. Then, as Felicity turned around balancing two overfull mugs in her hands, it struck him. There were no photographs anywhere. The fridge, the mantel, the end tables— they were bare. 

Felicity set one mug in front of Dig, then slid into the chair across from him, cradling her own mug in both hands. “Cream, no sugar. That still right?” 

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Felicity took a sip then set her mug down. “So how are you? How’re Lyla and Sara? I wanna know everything.”

As they talked Felicity’s initial shock at seeing John wore off, and was replaced by a cheery warmth in her chest at the sight of her friend. The thought that she had avoided him for so long out of some misguided fear that he would hold her need to get out of Star City against her felt criminal and downright stupid. She had missed out on so much. And for what?

“There are two other things I wanted to talk to you about,” Dig said half an hour later, as Felicity stood up to refill both their mugs. 

“Oh?”

“The first is the most important. I promised Lyla I’d give you this.” He held out bright pink envelope. 

Felicity took it, glancing at him as she sat back down. She slid a finger under the flap and lifted out the contents. “An invitation to Sara’s birthday party?” Her heart clenched. “That’s really sweet, Dig.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?”

Felicity bit her lip. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Because of Oliver?” 

Felicity looked away. Despite the hot mug in her hands and the warmth emanating from the radiator by her feet she suddenly felt cold. “Does he know you’re here?”

“No. Felicity, I tried to be Oliver’s relationship ambassador once before— when you were with Palmer—and that was a mistake. I shouldn’t have gotten in the middle of it but I did. I never apologized for that but I should have. I’m not here for Oliver. Whatever is going on between you two is your own business.” He leaned back in his chair and held his hands up. “I’m just here as a guy who misses his friend. And as a dad whose daughter would love to have her godmother at her birthday party.”

Felicity nodded and looked away, blinking rapidly. She took a long sip of coffee. The radiator reached the end of its cycle and shut off, leaving the tiny kitchen impossibly quiet. In the sudden silence, Felicity made a decision. 

“I’ll try to come,” she said, looking up at Dig. “I’ll talk to Wayne when I get into work today. Our merger talks with LexCorp are almost over. Maybe next week would be a good time for me to take a couple days.”

“Okay.” Dig nodded. “But if you don’t come that’s okay too. Just maybe answer your phone every once in a while.”

Felicity laughed. “Yeah. I think I can do that. You said there were two things you wanted to talk about,” she said, remembering. “What was the second thing?”

“It’s about our...volunteer work.”

Oh. “Vigilante Inc.?”

"Yeah."

Felicity cocked her head, waiting for him to continue. 

“There have been several deaths in the city recently that have just felt...off.”

Felicity’s brow wrinkled. “Deaths? You mean murders?”

Dig shook his head. “Not according to SCPD. According to official reports they’re all accidents. A loose screw in a woman’s balcony. A broken traffic light that caused car accident. An inexplicable fire.”

“The warehouse fire in the Triangle?” Felicity said without thinking. She flushed, knowing she had just given herself away. “So maybe I’ve been checking up on the city every now and then,” she said defensively as Dig smiled.

“You’re a hero Felicity. That’s not an easy occupation to quit.”

 _I’m not,_ she almost said. _Heroes don’t run away when things get hard. Heroes stay. Heroes fight._

She forced herself to look back at him. “What do you need from me?”

“If I give you a list of names could you run a crosscheck on them? Lance did an initial one but I was hoping you could dig a little deeper. We’re looking for commonalities— shared acquaintances, anything from their pasts that might give us an idea of why they were targeted. If they turn out to be linked that means there’s a serial killer out there—a smart one. We need to know if that’s the case. ”

Felicity nodded. “I can do that.” 

“Great. Thank you.”

Wind rattled against the window but inside it was warm. Cozy.

“It’s really nice to see you, Felicity,” Dig said. He held up his mug. “And to drink your coffee. Oliver tries but his coffee is shit.”

The memory took her by surprise. Oliver standing at the counter measuring out coffee grounds one morning not long after they'd moved into the house in Ivy Town. "You're using that much grounds?" Felicity had asked, coming to stand beside him. "For that much water?"

"Is that wrong?" he asked, his face adorably confused.

Felicity made a face. "Only if you want to drink your coffee instead of chew it."

"Help."

She'd wrapped her arms around his waist, rising up on her tippy toes to rub her nose against his. "What do I get if I help you?"

"Drinkable coffee?"

She kissed him, softly but with a hint of urgency. "What else?"

His eyes darkened and Felicity yelped as she was suddenly swept off her feet. "I'll show you," he growled.

By the time they got back out of bed again it was time for dinner and the coffee had been all but forgotten.

Felicity gave Dig a small smile, her heart twisting in her chest. “I do remember him struggling with that.”

“Well, I better go.” Dig stood up and shrugged on his jacket. 

“You’re leaving already?” Felicity was taken aback by the strength of her disappointment. “I have to go to work in half an hour but if you wanna stick around we could get lunch. I might be able to leave early too. I could take you up to the top of Wayne Tower. The view from up there is amazing at sunset.”

“I’d love to but my flight’s in an hour. I’m pushing it already.”

“Of course,” Felicity said, trying to hide her disappointment as she followed him to the door. “Some other time.”

When Dig turned back on the stoop to hug her, Felicity was surprised by how hard it was to let him go. 

“You’ll check about the party?” Dig said as he pulled away.

Felicity leaned against the door frame, clutching her sweater closer to her body as the cold began to leach through the thin material. She nodded. 

“See you soon then,” he said.

“See you soon,” she echoed. 

She watched him until he disappeared around the block. Even then she lingered. She had shut out all reminders of her old life for so long to have such a large one show up unexpectedly had thrown her for more of a loop than she’d ever admit. It was as if she’d thrown a blanket over her old life in Star City and seeing Dig had pulled it back again. She couldn’t say if she resented him for it or if she was grateful.

“Is Mr. Wayne in?” Felicity asked Bruce’s secretary as soon as she got into the office. 

“He’s in a meeting—” Patricia began, but a deep voice cut her off. 

“Actually we’re all done. You wanted to speak with me?”

Felicity turned to find herself face to face with Bruce Wayne. He was about the same height as Oliver (Felicity hated that she always did that—comparing every man she met to him), though a tad slighter, more narrow in the shoulders, and sharper; sharper cheekbones, sharper jaw. Dark eyes that cut like a knife. It had taken Felicity weeks to be able to look him in the eyes without feeling the urge to flinch. But she was not wholly unfamiliar with prickly males and after a while she had adjusted. Now she liked to play a game she called _Can I make Bruce Wayne smile today?_

In two years she had won the game three times. 

Felicity nodded and Bruce waved her into his office. They were on the seventy-third floor of the building and the walls were all glass. The rest of Gotham sparkled far, far below. Pedestrians on the sidewalk looked like ants. A few blocks over the trees in Grant Park were ablaze with color. 

Felicity plucked up her courage and began. “I need a few days off and since the merger talks are wrapping up I hoped it would be alright if I maybe cashed in a few of my sick days.”

Bruce sank into his chair, steepling his hands on his desk. “Something come up?”

“My goddaughter is turning five on Monday. I was there when she was born but I missed her last two birthdays. I really don’t want to miss another one.”

He held her gaze for a minute and she was struck once again by how dark and cold they seemed. “Take the time, Smoak. When you get back we’ll take another look at the numbers from the Fester report.”

Felicity let out her breath. Something about Wayne kept her on her toes whenever she was around him. “Thank you.”

“And Ms. Smoak?” He called as she laid her hand on the door.

Felicity turned.

He was still staring at the computer. “While you’re in Star City tell the Arrow hello for me.”

Felicity’s mouth fell open. “I—” she was about to deny his silent claim but he raised an eyebrow and she knew it was a lost cause. He knew. Which probably meant he knew that she knew about him as well. 

Well at least they didn’t have to dance around that anymore. Felicity lifted her chin, a hint of a smile on her lips. “If you tell the Bat not to take too many unnecessary risks while I’m gone.”

Bruce held her gaze without blinking. Still, Felicity thought she’d seen his lips tilt imperceptibly. That counted, right? She made the executive decision that it did.

_Score one for me._

Bruce turned back to his computer. “Goodbye, Felicity. Have a safe trip.”

Felicity smiled as she left his office. Patricia gave her a strange look; people didn’t often leave Bruce Wayne’s office with a smile 

When she got home Felicity texted Dig to let him know she was definitely coming.

_Does Sara still want a pony for her birthday?_

A minute later he texted back.

_No ponies unless you’re sticking around to clean up the shit._

_Okay but what if the pony comes with a bedazzled pooper scooper_

_No ponies, Smoak_

Felicity slumped down into the couch. Her smile slowly faded as the reality of the situation began to sink in. She was going back. Back to the place she’d run from so far and so fast from that she’d ended on the opposite coast of the country.

_It’s only for a visit. Your life is here now. A two day trip isn’t going to change that._

But she still had to deal with the question that had been running circles in her mind all day. Did she tell Oliver she was coming? Dig probably had told him by now, right? Although he had said he was interfering between them anymore. Did that include letting him know she’d be at Sara’s birthday party?

She’d deal with that later, she decided. In the morning. 

Yes. That would have to do.

For now she took out Dig’s list of names, fetched her computer, and curled back up on the couch to do some serious digging. If there was a connection, she would find it.

Her fingers flew across the keys.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> small warning for gore/violence in this one.
> 
> and angst. lots of that too.

Oliver was late for the party.

He’d been late when he left city hall an hour ago and now, after fifteen minutes of sitting in his car in the Diggles’ driveway, he was even later.

At least he could be sure that no one had expected him to be on time. There was something to be said for consistency.

_Get out of the car, Queen._

For fuck’s sake he had survived five years in hell, one which was spent embedded in the Russian mafia— he could survive a five year old’s birthday party.

Only the party wasn’t really the problem. 

She was.

 _If you don’t want me to come, I won’t,_ she'd texted him.

Oliver Queen had a lot of talents— most of them relating to different ways to incapacitate people— saying no to Felicity Smoak was not one of them.

 _It’s fine,_ he sent back. _See you there._

She hadn’t responded. He assumed that meant she was coming. That she was inside the house right now, probably wondering what he was doing sitting in his car in the dark.

Sighing, Oliver reached for his seatbelt. 

Dig opened the door wearing a My Little Pony party hat. “Hey, man, glad you made it. Come on in.”

Oliver stepped into the bright foyer, which was festooned with pink and yellow streamers. A pack of five years old shrieked by, whacking each other over the head with Styrofoam swords. Oliver glanced past Dig into the living room, where the adults were standing around in groups of twos and threes. 

“You casing the place?” Dig asked, eyebrow raised as he pulled the door shut behind them.

“What? No, I, uh—” Oliver cleared his throat “is she—?”

Dig clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “She’s here, yeah. She and Lyla went off to stack the presents in our bedroom. Although between you and me, they also had a bottle of wine and the entire cheese plate so I’m pretty sure ‘stacking the presents’ is code for hiding from the neighborhood association ladies.”

Oliver nodded stiffly. “Speaking of presents.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in silver paper. “It’s a bracelet. To go with the necklace.”

Dig took the box. “She’s gonna love it. Thank you.”

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. His tie felt inexplicably tight around his neck. He tugged on the knot but the feeling didn’t go away. 

Dig was watching him with an amused expression. “You know what you need? Some of Lyla’s adult punch. That woman does not play around when it comes to booze. Yeah?”

Booze. Yes. Best idea he’d heard all day. “Please.”

“Two seconds,” Dig said, pointing at him. “Don’t you run off while I’m gone.”

No promises.

Dig disappeared into the kitchen and Oliver loitered in the doorway for a moment, not quite ready to join the party yet, then turned and headed for the hallway bathroom. He’d splash some cold water on his face and then he’d be fine. He wasn’t hiding. Definitely not hiding.

The bathroom door swung open from the inside just as Oliver reached for the knob. 

An invisible vacuum sucked all the air out of the room. It must have, because suddenly Oliver couldn’t breathe. 

For a second they just stared at each other, her bright pink lips an ‘oh’ of surprise. 

Then Felicity said, “Oliver?” 

“Hi,” he blurted. 

At the same time she said, “How are you?”

They both flushed and looked away.

“You look good,” Felicity said, glancing back at him tentatively. “I was a little worried.” She blushed a shade darker and Oliver raised his eyebrows, a flash of dark pleasure streaking through him at the knowledge he could still make her squirm. “Not worried that you wouldn’t look good,” she said, backpedaling. “I mean, you always look good. You’re very good looking. I just meant that I saw you on the news— at the ribbon cutting for the new SCPD headquarters—and you looked tired. But you look good...is all I’m trying to say..." She grimaced. "Please feel free to stop me at any time.”

Oliver's lips curled into a smile entirely without his permission. “I’m fine,” he said. “How are you?” 

She nodded. “Oh, good, yeah. I—” whatever she was about to say was lost as the lights dimmed. Lyla emerged from the kitchen carrying a large pink and blue frosted birthday cake topped with five candles, flames dancing cheerily in the darkness.

_Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sara..._

Felicity bit her lip, nodding to the living room. “We should probably—”

Oliver nodded and followed her to the back of the throng circled around cake.

Everyone else was looking at Sara. 

Oliver looked at Felicity.

Her hair was a bit longer than the last time he’d seen her but other than that she looked the same, he realized with a flash of disappointment. So maybe he’d hoped she’d look different. Dyed her hair. Different glasses. Something. Maybe he’d thought it would be easier to see her again if she didn’t look so much like...herself. 

But she didn’t. 

And it wasn’t. 

She was smiling slightly, her gold hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. The candlelight softened her features, curving across the apple of her cheek, and catching in the dip at the base of her throat. 

Over the past two years Oliver had grown accustomed to longing. Regret. But standing there beside her in the darkness he realized that those feelings had just been phantoms. The yawning, hollow ache he felt now, standing closer to Felicity than he had been in years, and yet farther apart from her than he'd ever been...that was the real thing.

And fuck, if it wasn't painful. 

He forced himself to look away as the song ended. Someone turned up the lights and Dig appeared at Oliver’s side, worry lines etched into his brow.

“John?” Felicity said, placing her hand on his arm as he stopped in front of them. “What’s wrong?”

“I just got a call from Lance. He’s at a crime scene downtown. Asked us to come by.” 

“What happened?” Oliver asked. 

“He wouldn’t say over the phone.”

Lyla pushed her way toward them through the throng, holding a large cake spatula in one hand. “Go,” she said. “I can hold down the fort here.”

Dig looked over his shoulder at Sara who was sitting on the floor happily eating her way through a piece of cake the size as her head.

Lyla turned his cheek away. “Johnny, our daughter has forty-seven presents to get through and fifteen sugar-hyped five years olds to help her do it. No offense, but she’s not even going to notice you’re gone.”

Dig dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You know you’re my hero, right?”

“I know.” She patted his chest. “Now go be a hero for someone else.” 

Oliver was almost to the door when he realized Felicity was on his heels. He stopped short and she almost walked straight into him. “What are you doing?” 

“Coming with you,” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The ache in Oliver's chest ebbed, morphing into something else. Something angrier. “No. No way.”

Felicity scowled. “Why not? You don’t know what Lance wants. You might need my help.”

“We won’t,” Oliver said. 

“How do you know?” 

He didn’t have a good answer for why he didn’t want her to come. Something inside of him just rejected the idea, not only rejected it, shoved it away with two hands. 

“It’s not a good idea,” he said stiffly. He looked at Dig who held up his hands in a way that clearly said _leave me out of it._

Felicity’s eyes flashed. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“ _I’m stubborn?_ You’re the one who—”

“Guys,” Dig interrupted, “I know have some stuff to work through but now is maybe not the best time.”

Felicity crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised. “I’m coming.”

Oliver recognized that look. It was her 'I waited in line for ten hours for the Stars Wars Episode VII preimiere and I can out wait you look'. 

“Fine,” he growled. “But you’re riding with Dig.”

Felicity rolled her eyes as she followed him out the door. “My pleasure.”

 

The address Lance had given Dig turned out to be a crumbling apartment complex in East Gary, right on the border of the Triangle. 

There was no elevator. 

“Just take them off,” Oliver said to Felicity, glancing at her four inch stilettos as he and Dig waited on the fourth floor landing for her to catch up.

Felicity wrinkled her nose. “And get a tetanus infection, if not worse? No thanks.”

Oliver ground his teeth together. “Maybe you shouldn’t have come then.”

She glared at him. “Maybe you should quit being an ass.”

“I did not miss this,” Diggle muttered, earning a dark look from both of them.

Lance was waiting for them in the dim hallway outside apartment 614.

His eyebrows rose when he saw Felicity. “Ms. Smoak. I didn’t know you were back.”

“I’m not,” Felicity said, still slightly breathless from the trek up the stairs. “Just in town for forty-eight hours.” She pushed a lock of hair out her face. “Congratulations on your commissionership, by the way.”

“Enough small talk,” Oliver said. “What are we doing here?”

“See for yourself.” Lance pushed open the door to 614 and waved them inside. There was hardly any furniture in the decrepit apartment. Just an overstuffed couch and a TV that looked like it had been on its last legs back in the 90s. Grayish wallpaper peeled away from the baseboards like sunburnt skin.

“The owner of this place is not winning any interior design awards any time soon,” Felicity muttered as she stepped around an empty pizza box on the floor. 

“I don’t think he’s going to be doing much of anything any time soon,” Lance said. He led them to the back of the apartment and pushed open the door to the small bedroom.

The room was tiny, just wide enough to fit the twin size bed in the middle of it. The body of an older man lay face up on the bed. If Oliver had ever met him before, he wouldn't have been able to say. Someone had shot him in the head at point black range, caving in his left eye socket and blasting off part of his nose. A bloody Rorschach decorated the wall behind him. Neon light from the flickering motel sign next door poured through the window, illuminating the mattress like some kind of perverse shrine. Oliver couldn't decide which was worse-- the sight or the stench that snuck up on him and then went straight for the KO. Stale urine, blood, and a musty scent leaching from the walls. Delightful.

“Oh,” Felicity said in a small voice.

Oliver stopped at the end of the bed. One of the man's shoes was missing. The toe of his sock was stiff with dried blood.

“Darren Max,” Lance said from the corner of the room. “63. Retired cop. Gambled away most of his pension over the last few years. The forensics team’s been in and out already. Didn’t find much. No fingerprints. No sign of forced entry—door was locked from the inside.” He looked at Oliver. “I could really use your help on this one.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow, crouching down to look at the body from another angle. “In a mayoral capacity, of course.”

“Course,” Lance said wryly.

Dig ran his hands over the back of his head. “You think Max racked up debts to the wrong people?”

“I don’t know,” Lance said. “But whoever offed him left a message.” 

Oliver turned to look where Lance was pointing. 

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Is that—?” Felicity asked.

“Blood,” Lance confirmed. “Yeah. We’ve got some real sickos on our hands.”

“Fiat justitia ruat caelum,” Dig read. He glanced at Oliver. “Sounds Latin.”

“Don’t look at me,” Oliver said. “I failed Latin. Twice.”

“It is Latin,” Felicity said. Her heels clacked lightly against the floor as she crossed the room to stand beside Oliver. “It’s a legal phrase. A maxim of sorts. Let justice be done, though the heavens fall.”

Dig raised an eyebrow. “Poetic.”

“Justice,” Lance said, from the shadows in the corner of the room, “no matter the cost.”

As if on cue, wind howled by the window, rattling the glass in its frame. 

Oliver sighed. 

He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


	5. Chapter 5

Felicity and Dig stood on the cracked sidewalk outside Darren Max’s apartment building waiting while Oliver and Lance talked by Lance’s car, their heads bowed together, voices low. 

Felicity’s teeth were chattering. Star City wasn’t quite as cold as Gotham—it was more known for endless rain than deep freezes—but at ten o’clock on an October evening it was still cold, and Felicity’s embroidered coat was a lot prettier than it was warm. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” she asked, tucking her hands into her armpits to keep them warm.

“Hell if I know,” Dig said idly. “I’m just the man’s bodyguard.” 

“At least you’re not his driver anymore.” Felicity elbowed him playfully. “You’re moving up in the world, John Diggle.”

Dig snorted. His breath formed small ghosts in the air. Felicity couldn’t feel her toes. If her toes fell off would she still be able to stand up? She thought she remembered reading that all five toes were required for standing up. Or maybe it was just the pinky toes you needed, she couldn’t remember. Her attention drifted back to Oliver and Lance. Oliver nodded tersely at something Lance said and two of them shook hands, then Lance got into his squad car and drove away.

“You two seem pretty buddy-buddy,” Felicity said as Oliver rejoined them. 

Oliver nodded to Dig. “There’s not much else we can do tonight. Go home to your family. Thea and I can handle patrols alone.” 

Felicity felt a sting of rejection. Oliver had hardly looked at her after their tiff in the stairwell, much less talked to her. Felicity hadn’t expected him to be happy to see her but with every passing moment she grew more certain that he was actually counting down the seconds until she boarded a plane back to Gotham. 

Oliver started to turn away. Felicity grabbed his arm and he started as though she’d touched him with a live wire. 

That stung too.

“Sorry.” She shoved her hands back into her jacket pockets. “I just thought you’d want to hear what I dug up on that list.”

Oliver stared at her blankly. “What list?” 

“Um.” Felicity looked from Oliver to Diggle, and back. Dig’s face was inscrutable. “The list of names Dig gave me. Of people who have died in suspiciously unsuspicious accidents in Star City over the past few weeks?”

Oliver’s face darkened. He glanced at Dig, who shrugged. “We needed help, man. The city comes first.”

“Fine,” Oliver said. “Meet me at the lair in half an hour. We’ll go over whatever you found.” 

Felicity danced from foot to foot, trying to keep warm. “Um actually can we just go back to Dig’s? Lyla promised to save me a piece of cake and I haven’t eaten anything since the pretzels on the airplane.” Her stomach made a noise that sounded like a bullfrog getting sat on. She grimaced. “That was a really long time ago.”

 

At the house Felicity excused herself to the guest room to change out of her party clothes. She grabbed her tablet from her suitcase and was straightening when up she caught sight of herself in the mirror over the bureau and froze.

Without thinking she’d pulled on her Star City Rockets tee. The cotton was worn soft from use; the letters beginning to peel away from the fabric. She fingered the hem unconsciously, remembering.

She’d gotten the shirt the day Oliver was inducted as Mayor. After the ceremony and the press conference that followed, they had taken his entire campaign staff to Pap Stadium for the Rockets’ season opener against the Coast City Angels: a small thank you for all their hard work.

During the seventh inning stretch the two of them had slipped away to the concessions. Oliver kept kissing her while they waited in line. Usually she pushed him away when he tried to kiss her in public but that day she’d been drunk on victory and spring sunshine and she leaned hungrily into every kiss.

They were heading back to their seats when Felicity noticed Oliver staring at her.

“What?” Her hand flew to her face. “Is there something in my teeth?”

Oliver shook his head. He was golden in the late afternoon sunshine. “I’m just thinking how I never could have done this without you.”

“Carried all this food? I agree. You have an impressive wingspan, but not that impressive.”

“No.” Oliver smiled. God, she loved his smile. She’d do anything to see that man smile. “I meant the mayoral campaign. I honestly don’t know if I would have believed I could do it if you hadn’t believed it first.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Felicity.”

Her heart stuttered. “You’re getting down on one knee, why are you getting down on one knee?” 

“Felicity Smoak, will you marry me?”

She’d said yes, of course she’d said yes. 

He beamed. Then his smile faded. “Fuck.”

Felicity blanched. “Are you reconsidering? Jesus Christ, it’s been like two seconds.”

“No. Of course not.” Oliver scowled, patting his pockets. “I don’t have the ring. I’ve been carrying it around for months and...fuck. I don’t have it.”

Felicity laughed from relief. “Is that all?” She tugged a pull ‘n’ peel Twizzler out of the package and wound it around her finger. “Would you look at that? A ring. How convenient.” She pulled him to his feet. “Come here, you idiot.” 

He tasted like sunshine and licorice. “I love you,” he insisted against her lips.

“Love you,” she echoed. “I love you. So much.”

There was a loud cheer and they looked up to find themselves projected on the giant Kiss Cam screens. Felicity flushed and hid her face in Oliver’s collar. He laughed and waved to the camera, eliciting hoots from the crowd.

_Congratulations to Mayor Queen and the future first lady. We now ask everyone to please stand for the national anthem..._

There was a sharp rap on the bedroom door. 

“Felicity?” Dig called through the door. “You okay in there?”

“Yes!” She grabbed a sweatshirt from her suitcase and tugged it on over the t-shirt. “Sorry, I’m coming. Coming.”

The boys were waiting for her on the couch in the living room. 

Felicity dropped onto an overstuffed armchair arm chair and turned on her tablet. “Okay. So do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

Oliver and Dig glanced at each other. “Good news,” Oliver said.

“Huh,” Felicity said, idly tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair as she waited for the tablet to power on. “I really thought you were gonna go with the bad news.” The screen glowed to life and she pulled up the file she’d put together on the case. “Alright. The good news is I found a connection. Every name on this list was brought in by SCPD during the period 2005-2010. Not just for any crime either— manslaughter, most of them.”

“That can’t be right,” Oliver said. “That would have come up when we ran the initial background checks.”

Felicity tucked her legs under herself and burrowed her chin into the collar of her sweatshirt. “It would have, if any of them had ever been formally charged. But none of them were. They were all released without charges filed. Remember Mike Daley?”

“Our dead warehouse foreman,” Dig said. 

“Right. In 2008 he was working his usual night shift, had a few too many beers. Ended up beating a homeless man to death after finding him sleeping in the warehouse. He was never charged for it.”

Dig raised his eyebrows. “And how’d he get away with that?”

“It took me a while to fit all the pieces together. Turns out Farley Pharmaceutical, the company that owns the warehouse, paid off the then police commissioner to let Daley go, avoid the bad publicity. The arresting detective was so pissed he punched a hole in the break room wall. Got a week of unpaid leave for his trouble.” 

Oliver folded his arms and leaned back into the couch. “2008 was right in the middle of SCPD’s run for most corrupt Police Department in the country. Half the force was on the Triad’s payroll. Apparently the other half worked for the highest bidder.” 

“Made it hard for the few honest cops on the payroll at the time.” Felicity said. “The detective in the Daley case is the same one that brought in all the others on our list. Mark Wilcox.” Felicity turned her tablet around to show them a photo of Wilcox: nondescript Caucasian male, mid-thirties at the time the photo was taken, with a dark widow’s peak and soft brown eyes. “He kept trying to do his job only to get undercut by corrupt higher-ups. Eventually it came to a head. He had a huge blow up with the Captain. Called him out for all the underhanded stuff that was going on. A month later he was transferred to Gotham PD.”

Dig ran his hand down the side of his face. “So maybe something sets Wilcox off— he decides to take justice into his own hands by killing all the people who got off back when SCPD was more criminal than the people they were bringing in.”

“Can you pull up his travel records?” Oliver said sharply. “See if he’s made any trips to Star City recently?”

Felicity forced herself to look at him. It hurt, looking at him. She used to be able to read him so well but now looking at him was like looking at a mask. She had no idea what he was thinking and it was driving her slightly nuts. “I don’t think there’s any point.”

Dig raised an eyebrow. “Felicity, you just made a very compelling argument that this is our guy.”

She sighed. “Yeah, well, I haven’t given you the bad news yet. A few months after Wilcox transferred to Gotham he was shot by one of the Joker’s goons during a holdup at Gotham National. Mark Wilcox is dead.” 

There was a moment of silence. Oliver held her gaze, his face unreadable. Diggle slumped back into the couch. “So our only lead is dead. And we’re right back where we started.”

“I’ll keep digging.” Felicity grimaced. “But for now...yeah.”

Oliver swore under his breath. 

They sat around for a while after that, throwing out different theories but none of them seemed plausible. Oliver left soon after and Dig headed off to bed, yawning.

Felicity sat up in bed searching through the Gotham Globe archives on her laptop. She couldn’t sleep. Darren Max’s face—what was left of it anyway—was seared into the backs of her eyelids. Every time she closed her eyes it swum back into focus, all blood and fragments of lily white bone. 

She clicked on a short article about Mark Wilcox’s funeral: ‘Joker Captured, City Mourns Fallen Officer’. 

A photo accompanied the article. It seemed all of Gotham’s upper crust had turned out for the funeral. The police commissioner, the mayor—he’d still been with his second wife then, Felicity noted—and other city leaders were all there. They formed a long row of black clad figures around the grave, shoulder hunched against a sideways rain. Felicity’s mouse hovered over the second to last figure in the first row. Was that—? She enlarged the photo. There was no mistaking those dark eyes and knifelike jaw.

Bruce Wayne. 

What was he doing there?

Felicity’s eyelids felt like lead. She shut her laptop and shoved it onto the bedside table. She shot off a quick text to Wayne asking him to call her in the morning. Not that she expected him to have anything. He had probably just attended the funeral as a show of support for Gotham PD. Rolling onto her side, she shut her eyes.

The dream started the same way it always did.

Felicity stood outside the door to the loft, fist posed to knock. Before she could, the door opened. Oliver stood on the other side. He was holding a chubby cheeked child on his hip.  
“Finally,” he said, ushering her into the apartment and shutting the door behind her. “Meeting run long?”

Felicity’s eyes were trained on the baby. Was she imagining things or did it have her lips? And Oliver’s eyes? “Oliver, whose kid is that?” she asked warily as he led her into the kitchen. A pan of garlic, onions, and peppers sizzled on the stove. The smell curled softly around her. Her mouth watered.

“Haha, very funny,” Oliver said. “Here take her so I can finish dinner.” He handed the baby to her and oh god nothing had ever felt so right in her life as having that warm weight in her arms. She was being silly. Of course this was her child, of course.

“Hi, sheina meidel.” She kissed her daughter’s downy head. She smelled of talcum powder and vanilla. “Hey there. Did you miss me? I missed you.” 

“Gah,” said the baby, waving her chubby arms.

Felicity grinned. Her heart was bursting. “That means yes, right? Yes, mommy, I missed you and I love you so much more than daddy.”

“Oh no,” Oliver said, glancing up from the stove. “Gah’ means daddy is the best and by far my favorite parent. It’s common knowledge, ask anyone.” 

Felicity moved to stand beside him. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm.” He smiled and bent down from a kiss. “Hand me the cutting board?”

A shriek ricocheted through the kitchen. The smell of cooking receded and the child was fading, Oliver was disappearing too, and Felicity recognized that it had just been a dream but oh god she didn’t want to wake up.

Too late. 

Felicity opened her eyes. 

She was lying flat on her back in bed in the Diggles’ guest room, the sheets a tangle around her legs. Pale morning light bled through the blinds and seeped across the bed. Her phone was grousing loudly by her head, threatening to vibrate itself right off the nightstand. Her fingers scrabbled blindly for a moment before they found the snooze button. The alarm died mid-shriek, leaving her in a bubble of silence.

Felicity let her eyes drift shut. It was only 7 am. Maybe she could doze off again. Maybe she’d even have the same dream...

A bird began to peck rhythmically at the windowsill.

Felicity threw off the covers and sat up. Who was she kidding; there was no way she was going back to sleep. Besides, the smell of was coffee drifted under the door, tickling her nose. Felicity pushed herself out of bed, grabbed her STAR LABS sweatshirt from her suitcase, and padded down the hall.

Lyla was sitting at the kitchen table in her work clothes, sipping from a large mug. She looked up as Felicity appeared and smiled. “Hey there.”

“Coffee?” Felicity said hopefully.

Lyla looked apologetic. “It’s decaff.”

Felicity made a face.

“I know,” Lyla sighed. “Trust me, I’m not happy about it either.” She ran her hand unconsciously over her stomach. “It was doctor’s orders actually.” 

Felicity’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you—?”

Lyla smiled into her coffee. “We wanted to wait until after Sara’s party to tell everyone. Didn’t want to steal her thunder, you know?”

Felicity slid into the seat across the table. “Oh my god, Lyla, congratulations!”

“Thank you. We’re pretty excited about it.” She nodded to the cupboard. “There’s some regular coffee above the toaster if you wanna make a pot. I’m sure John would appreciate it.”

Felicity poured out the grounds and flipped on the machine before plopping back into her chair. “You threw a great party, by the way. Sorry we, um...bailed halfway through.”

Lyla raised her eyebrows. “Oliver seemed happy to see you.” 

Felicity watched wisps of steam curl up from Lyla’s cup. “I’m not sure happy is the right word.”

Lyla hesitated. 

“What?” Felicity asked. 

“Do you mind if I ask what happened? You two seemed so solid.” Lyla sat back, grimacing. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. It’s just, when Oliver got back from Gotham and said you guys broke up we were so shocked—”

Suddenly Felicity was sitting bolt upright. “Oliver came to Gotham?” she interrupted. “When?”

“Oh.” Lyla faltered. “Um. A few months after you left. He was gone for a couple days and when he got back he said you two talked and decided to end it. Long distance was too hard...” She looked uneasy. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

Oliver had come to Gotham? He had lied then, when he told her he wasn’t coming. But why would he travel all the way across the country and then leave without seeing her? Or was Lyla simply misinformed? 

Felicity’s phone buzzed loudly, tearing her out of her thoughts. It was Wayne. He must have seen her message. She hadn’t expected a call back so soon. “Um, I should take this,” she said, glancing up at Lyla. “It’s my boss.”

“Right,” Lyla said. “Felicity, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about Oliver. It’s not my business.”

“No, it’s okay.” Felicity stood up and started backing out of the room. “Really. Um. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back!” She let herself out the front door and immediately regretted that decision when her bare feet hit the cold stone stoop. “Bruce,” she said breathlessly, tugging at the zipper on her sweatshirt. “You got my message?”

“Hello to you too,” Wayne said wryly. “Couldn’t go two days without talking to me?”

“Hardly. I’m actually calling on the Arrow’s behalf. Five years ago, you went to the funeral of a police detective name Mark Wilcox. I was just wondering why. Did you know him?”

There was silence on the other line. “Hello?”

His voice was low, urgent. “Does the Arrow have Wilcox?”

Felicity pinched the bridge of her nose. “What? No. Mark Wilcox dead. You went to his funeral, that’s why I called you.”

“He’s not dead.” 

“Excuse me?”

“He’s not dead. And if he’s in your city you have a much bigger problem than you realize.” 

Felicity took a moment to wrap her head around this new piece of information. Not dead? Of course he wasn’t dead. No one stayed dead anymore. It was passé. Like Bermuda shorts and renting dvds from Netflix. 

“Felicity, are you still there?” 

She licked her lips once. “Yes.”

“I’m coming out there. Can you pick me up from the airport?”

“You’re—what now?” 

“I’ll be in Star City by—”there was a pause “—2:30. Pick me up from the airport. Don’t be late.”

“Wait—” The line cut off. He’d hung up. Felicity stared down at her phone. What the hell had just happened? Next door someone turned on a leaf blower. “Well, motherfucker,” she said.


	6. Chapter 6

_Just before our love got lost you said_  
_“I am as constant as a northern star" and I said_  
_Constantly in the darkness_

Oliver couldn’t stop pacing; back and forth he went across the lair. Ever since Felicity had walked back into his life he’d been restless. He’d thought he had made his peace with what had happened between the two of them. When he first found out she was coming back he’d gone as far as to wonder if they might be able to cobble together some semblance of a friendship. Now the idea seemed laughable. Her presence set him on edge in a way he couldn’t explain. His blood seemed to hum closer to the surface than usual. His palms itched. The urge to punch something was overwhelming.

Oliver came to the wall, spun on his heel, and prowled back to the center of the lair. “Tell me again what she said,” he shot at Dig, who was lounging in Felicity’s chair by the computers. He still thought of it as hers although it hadn’t been for years. At first he’d tried to fight it but eventually he’d just given in. Decades could go by and still he’d think of that stupid chair as hers.

“Felicity?” Dig said, raising an eyebrow. “She just said to meet her here in an hour. And that she was bringing a friend.”

“Bringing a friend?” Thea straightened up from attacking a practice dummy. She shook sweat damp hair out of her eyes, escrima sticks falling to her sides. “Is this a secret lair or the neighborhood treehouse?”

Oliver didn’t reply although silently he agreed. Felicity had no right to bring a stranger into their base of operations. Not without at least asking first. But that was Felicity, always doing what she wanted with no regard to how it might affect the people around her. _Really?_ a small voice prodded, _Is that really what you think of her?_

No. Yes. He didn’t know. Her face flashed before his eyes and the spark of anger he’d been nursing for the past forty eight hours flared up inside him, hot and bright. He didn’t know where it came from. He didn’t want it. But nothing he did – no amount of salmon laddering or taking it out on a practice dummy — seemed to put it out.

The elevator doors slid smoothly open and Oliver turned just in time to see Felicity step into the lair. For the briefest moment a flood of longing soothed his ire. In a flared trench coat, black pants, and high heeled black boots, her hair was pulled into its familiar ponytail and her lips painted light pink, she looked so familiar, so much like the woman he remembered. The one laughed at his lame jokes and patched his wounds. The one who smelled like strawberry shampoo and ate her pizza backward, crust first. The one who had always pulled away when he tried to kiss her in public though in the end she’d give in, her hand curling into his shirt, pulling him closer –

_Stop._

Half because he’d been distracted by Felicity and half because the man moved soundlessly, staying to the shadows, Oliver didn’t immediately notice a second figure step out of the elevator. But then he moved into the light, stopping by Felicity’s elbow, and Oliver realized who the ‘friend’ Dig had mentioned was.

“John, Oliver, Thea,” Felicity said, “this is—”

“Bruce Wayne,” Oliver said, leaning back against the console table and crossing his arms. He raised an eyebrow. “Or should I say the Batman?”

“And you’re the Green Arrow,” Wayne replied. “Strange we ended up so similar after all, isn’t Queen?”

“You two know each other?” Felicity said curiously, looking from one man to the other.

“Us billionaire progeny tend to move in the same circles,” Wayne said dryly. “We crossed paths a few times.”

Although they had attended many of the same parties and fundraisers over the years he and Wayne had never been close. Bruce had been reserved, quiet and calculating, even as a teenager. And Oliver... he’d been called a lot of things growing up. The nicest were ‘wild’ and ‘loud’. Wayne was right about one thing though: it was strange to realize they had ended up on such similar paths. When Oliver had first heard about the vigilante the Gotham press referred to as the ‘Bat’, Wayne had been at the top of his list of suspects. Clearly Wayne had had the same revelation about him being the Green Arrow.

“It’s been a long time,” Oliver said.

“Daphne Herrera’s New Year’s Eve party in 2002. You left with the girl I went with.”

Oliver had forgotten about that. He shrugged. “I was a bit of an ass back then. Do you mind my asking what you’re doing here? Gotham has enough of its own problems, I’m sure you didn’t come looking to steal some of ours.”

“Ms. Smoak informed me that your team is looking into a string of killings in which the only common denominator is a man named Mark Wilcox.” Wayne’s eyes roved around the lair taking in the practice mats and glass display cases before settling back on Oliver. “I have a vested interest in anything with possible connections this man.”

“Why?” Thea had put away her escrima sticks and grabbed a small towel from the stack by the training dummies. She stepped into the circle, dabbing at the back of her neck. “Felicity told us that Mark Wilcox is dead.”

Felicity scrunched her nose. “Ah, don’t hate me. It’s possible he’s not as dead as I thought.”

Dig shook his head. “And every day the Elvis conspiracy theories seem less and less crazy.”

Wayne ignored this. “When Mark Wilcox moved to Gotham he was recruited for an experimental program spearheaded by Gotham PD and the science division of Wayne Inc. Project Jove. The idea was simple— to give the police an edge over increasingly sophisticated criminal agents by increasing their aptitude in certain skills. The subject was given low doses of experimental growth hormones as well as developmental drugs aimed at increasing synaptic firing rates. The end result was supposed to make him faster, stronger, able think more quickly. Wilcox was the ideal candidate: right age, intelligent, in good health. He had a strong record of integrity and the willingness to undergo the risk.

“And it worked?” Dig asked skeptically.

Wayne lifted one of the arrows out of the quiver Oliver has left lying on the table. He tapped his finger to the point. Instantly a dot of blood blossomed from his skin, dark red in the dim lighting. “Aluminum-carbon composite. Interesting choice." He set the arrow back in its quiver and looked up at Dig. "To answer your question, yes. Wilcox’s speed, muscle density, IQ, even his ability to tell when people were lying all increased three fold. Unfortunately the drug regime didn’t make him impervious to bullets. When he was shot by one of the Joker’s men the ER trauma team failed to resuscitate him."

Thea looked from Wayne to Felicity. “I don’t understand. You guys just said he was alive.”

“He is. After his declared death, some of the scientists from the Project snuck Wilcox’s body out of the hospital and transported to the testing facility. They used a drug to kickstart his heart that was denied approval by the FDA because of its serious psychological side effects. They also embedded titanium plates in his body, making him impervious to most bullets. All without my knowledge.”

“So they basically turned him into some kind of Robocop 2.0,” Thea said. Oliver threw her a glance and she shrugged. “What? I watch a lot of movies.”

“I was only made aware of all this three months ago,” Wayne said. “When Wilcox broke out of the facility they were holding him in. According to the scientists that were supervising him his mental state had begun to degrade in the months after he was resuscitated. They said he became obsessed with the idea of justice. Justice over the law, over everything. He became particularly enamored with the idea of Hammurabi’s Code. An eye for an eye—”

“A life for a life,” Felicity finished.

"Sounds like he'd be fun at parties," Thea muttered.

“We’ve been trying to track him down ever since," Wayne said. "With his heightened abilities and degraded mental state he poses a great risk to the public. Felicity told me that so far it seems he’s only killed people from his past, people he views as criminals. However, when pressed the scientists who performed his surgery admitted that they expect his mental state to continue declining. That as it does he may become less targeted in his killings.”

Oliver had heard enough. “How could you let this happen? This were your people. Your initiative.”

Wayne’s dark eyes flicked in his direction. Even as a teen his gaze had been sharp, enough to silence the most obnoxious of their social set with a mere glance. That propensity had only grown since. “You’re right. This is my responsibility. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to bring Wilcox in before he can harm anyone else.”

“Look,” Felicity said lightly, trying to ease the tension. “I know this sounds really bad but honestly it’s kind of the best case scenario.”

Everyone looked at her incredulously.

Grimacing, she held up a finger. “Let me rephrase. At least now that we know Wilcox is alive we can try to do something about it. I didn’t bother before because I thought he was dead but I can put together a map of all the deaths we’ve attributed to him. Then maybe we can triangulate and determine Wilcox’s base of operations.” She turned to Dig. “May I?”

He stood and Felicity slid into the chair, cracking her knuckles. “Once I input all the information we should have something in about an hour.”

Dig pulled on his jacket. “I’ll go to SCPD. Talk to Lance. He should know what we’re dealing with.”

“And I need a shower,” Thea said, following him to the elevator. “And some Big Belly Burger. Anyone else want something? Any takers? No?”

Something buzzed. Wayne pulled out his phone. “It’s Alfred,” he said, glancing at Felicity. “I have to take this. Call me when you have something.”

“You got it, boss,” she said without looking up. “Say hi for me.”

Oliver made to follow the others but at the sound of his name he turned back.

“Stay for a minute,” Felicity said without looking at him, her fingers flying across the keys. “I want to talk to you.”

He hesitated and the elevator doors slid closed. They were alone. Slowly he dropped into an empty chair opposite Felicity. “What is it?”

She finished typing out a line code then turned in her chair to face him. Their eyes locked together. Oliver longed to look away; she could see right through him, he was sure.

“You came to Gotham.” It wasn’t a question: she knew. For a moment her words hung in the air as Oliver sat there, stunned. Whatever he had expected her to say it wasn’t that.

“Felicity—”

“If you are about to lie to me, Oliver, don’t bother. Lyla told me. She didn’t mean to— she thought I already knew.” She paused, shaking her head slightly. “Why didn’t you come see me? Why did you tell everyone that we talked and decided to end it? Because that’s really not how I remember it.”

“I did.”

The little wrinkle appeared— the one she always got between her brows when she was confused. “Did what?.”

“I did come to see you.” Oliver heaved a breath. “Felicity, when you accepted the offer for a temporary position in Gotham, I was angry.”

“That I remember.”

“I thought you were running away. Avoiding dealing with...what happened.”

She leaned forward. “It was only supposed to be for a few months, Oliver. I was going to come back. I just needed to not be here for a while. To be-" she waved her hand vaguely "-somewhere else.”

He nodded. “That’s what you said. And after you left and I had time to calm down I thought maybe you were right.”

“So you came to Gotham,” she prodded.

He licked his lips. Nodded again. “When I got there I went to your office. Your secretary said you were at lunch and she gave me the name of the restaurant so I went. You were with some people. From work, I guess. And you were laughing. You looked...happy. For the first time in months you were smiling. And it just made me realize that maybe what you needed wasn’t to be away from Star City. Maybe it was to be away from me.”

Felicity shrunk back into her chair. “Oliver—”

“No, listen.” He looked up, his insides churning. He’d held this in for so long and now that he’d begun there was no stopping the deluge from pouring out. “After it happened...after we got back from the hospital— you barely talked to me. You could barely look at me. For weeks it was like that. And I didn’t know how to help you. Everything I did seem to make it worse. You flinched when I touched you. Do you know how that felt?”

Her voice was flat. “So you decided that best way to fix things was just to end them.”

He stood suddenly and turned away from her. His palm dug into the console table as he leaned into it. “You don’t get it. I’d already lost you. You moved all the way across the country. People who want to be with someone don’t do that.”

“Oliver, I keep telling you I just needed time—”

He spun around. “And what about what I needed, Felicity?” He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. “I know I can never feel what you felt. I wish I had been there when it happened. I wish I could have at least held your hand. But you aren’t the only one that lost something. I was hurting too. And you left.” He slumped slowly back into the chair. His felt tired. Used and wrung out like an old rag. “What did you expect me to do? Just sit at home, twiddling my thumbs until you decided you were ready to come back? If you decided you ever ready?”

“All I know,” Felicity said in a low voice. “Is that you ended things— in a phone call, no less— without even giving me a chance apologize or explain. You always think you know what’s best for everyone, Oliver. Well, guess what? You don’t.”

They held each other’s gaze. In the background one of the generators switched on, a low hum cutting through the silence. A thousand thoughts raced through Oliver’s head, a thousand things he wanted to say to her, but he couldn’t seem to form them into actual words.

The computer pinged.

“What’s that,” Oliver said stiffly.

Scrubbing at her eyes, Felicity turned back to the monitor “The trace is back. I’ve got a location on Wilcox.”

Oliver stood and glanced at the address over her shoulder. “Text it to Dig and Wayne. Tell them I’ll meet them there.”

“We should wait. Meet with the others and make a plan.”

“I’m done waiting." Oliver grabbed his bow and stalked toward the glass case where his suit waited for him. He was really looking forward to finally getting the chance to punch something. “This ends tonight.”

This time when she called after him he didn’t look back.


	7. Chapter 7

Dig picked up on the fifth ring. “Felicity?”

Felicity skipped the niceties. “How fast can you get to 63 Elm Steet in Lincoln Heights? The trace came back on Wilcox and Oliver went after him alone.”

Dig swore. “Okay. I’m on my way.”

Felicity let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Thank you. Thea’s en route as well.”

He hung up and Felicity reopened Oliver’s comm line. “Oliver, John and Thea are on their way.”

“I’m here.” Oliver’s voice was low in her ear. “How many people are inside?”

Felicity squeezed her eyes shut. “Oliver, we have no idea what this guy is capable of. I really think you should wait for backup.”

She’d said something similar to him once and his response had been _I have you_. Now he just said, “How many, Felicity.”

Sighing, she swiveled in her chair to her second monitor and pulled up a heat map of the small house at 63 Elm. “Just one. Oliver—”

There was a crash as he kicked in the door. Then his voice, distorted by the morphVox, growling, “Don’t move.” A scrabbling sound, more crashing and a sharp intake of breath, static, and then—

Nothing.

“Oliver?” Felicity sat frozen in her chair with her hand to her earpiece. “Oliver?” His comm must have shorted, that was the only explanation. And that only would have happened under a few very specific scenarios. Someone had ripped it out or it had been knocked out or Oliver’s head had been forced under water— Felicity’s blood slowed in to a crawl in her veins. The moment stretched out infinitely before her filled with a hundred horrible scenarios, each worse than the last.

This time Dig picked up on the first ring. “I’m almost there, Felicity.”

“Oliver’s comm shorted. I can’t talk to him. I can’t do anything, I can’t—”

“I’m here,” he cut her off. “I’ll call you back.”

Five minutes passed. It felt like an hour. 

_Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have fought with him. I shouldn’t have let him go. I shouldn’t have—_

Felicity worried the nail polish off each of the nails on her right hand. She was starting on her left when Thea called. Felicity snapped up the phone before it had finished the first ring. “Yes?” 

“We got him, Felicity. He’s a little banged up but he’s fine.”

Felicity pulled off her glasses and scrubbed her hand down her face. Thank god. “Good. That’s good. And Wilcox?”

“He got away. We found something though. We’re coming back. See you soon.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

The line went dead.

Felicity slumped down in her chair, feeling as drained as if she’d been in a fight herself. The second the comm had shorted she had become helpless. She hadn’t felt that way in a long time...not since that night. She hated it. Behind her, the backup generator powered on, a low hum cutting through the stillness in the lair.

The three of them got back forty five minutes later, Oliver leaning heavily on Digg’s shoulder. Dried blood covered the left side of his face from a gash above his eyebrow. Felicity suspected he’d injured his right leg as well because he was favoring the other one. She jumped up to go for the first aid kit and found Thea had beat her. She hovered by the computers with her arms wrapped around herself, watching Thea carefully clean the blood from her brother’s face before taping a clean piece of gauze over the cut. It was strange, watching someone else patch up Oliver. Since Felicity had found out about his secret all those years ago that had always been her job. 

“Why?” she had asked Oliver once, a few months into their summer road trip. “Dig has actual medical training. I can’t even play Operation without gagging. You should have let him do it.”

He shrugged. It was 2 o’clock in the afternoon and they were lying in bed in a little motel in Coast City, the sheet a tangle around their waists. “I liked having you near me. Before, it was the only time you touched me.”

“That was your fault. I don’t know if you realize this but you used to be kind of prickly.”

“And now?” He smiled and his fingers skimmed up and down her spine, little shivers following in their wake.

She kissed the underside of his jaw. “Now you are slightly less prickly.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“But you don’t have any problem with touching anymore.”

“No,” he said, and his hand dipped between her legs. “Not anymore.”

“Felicity.” Digg’s voice tugged her out of the memory. 

“Hm?” She snapped back to reality. “Sorry, what?”

“We found this in the house.” He handed her a small worn leather journal. 

She took it and flipped through the yellowed pages. It was filled with names scrawled in nearly illegible cursive. She managed to make out a few. “Mike Daley. Shane McAuliffe. Lola Bridges. ” She looked up at Dig. “This is a hit list.”

He nodded. “That’s what we think. Can you run the names against the list of people Wilcox brought in during his time with SCDP, see if there’s a match?”

“Of course.” She started for the computers then hesitated, turning back to Oliver. “Are you...are you okay?”

Oliver pulled a grey Henley over his head, avoiding her gaze. “I’m fine.”

Dig drifted away to go talk to Thea, leaving them alone. 

“Where’s Wayne?” Oliver said.

Felicity wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “I don’t know. I tried to call him but he’s not answering.”

Oliver stood, grimacing slightly. “Well, you can tell him what happened. I’m going home. I’ve got a budget meeting at 9 tomorrow morning.”

She cracked a half smile. “Sounds like a real fun time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The Director of Public Works is giving a presentation about the pothole crisis in Southie.”

“Like a said, a real fun time.”

He shook his head. “Good night, Felicity.”

“Good night,” she echoed. She had wanted to call after him as he disappeared around the corner to the garage but to do what? To say what? Everything thing she did, everything choice she had made just seemed to push him further away.

Dig drove them back to the house. Sara and Lyla were already in bed, the house dark and silent. Felicity and Dig wished each other goodnight in the hallway and went opposite ways. 

Felicity opened the door the guest room, her fingers fumbling for the light switch in the darkness. As light flooded the room Felicity yelped. “Bruce!”

He looked up from the rocking chair in the corner of the room. “What?”

“What do you mean 'what'? Why the hell are you sitting in here in the dark?”

“I was waiting for you,” he said, as though this explained everything.

“You could have at least turned on the light,” Felicity grumbled, her heart racing. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.”

Felicity sank onto the bed. “Where have you been? I tried to call you.”

“The call I got from Alfred. The Joker broke out of prison.”

“Oh.” Realization dawned on her. “You have to go back.”

He leaned forward on his elbows. “I wish I didn’t. This thing with Wilcox is my responsibility.”

Felicity hesitated. “The people who did this to him...they’re in jail, right?”

He held her gaze. “They’re where they won’t hurt anyone else.”

“Right.” Felicity wasn’t sure she wanted any more detail than that. “Well...I’ll stay. If you want me to, I mean. You’re the boss.” 

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

"What do you mean?"

“You and Queen," he said evenly. "You were together.”

Felicity looked up sharply. 

“I’m not an expert on feelings but I’d have to blind not to see it.”

She tugged at a loose thread on the bedspread. “Yes.”

“But it ended.”

She looked up, suddenly incredibly tired. She gave a little half shrug. “Yes.”

“I’ve always believed this life is incompatible with personal relationships.” His voice was carefully flat but Felicity thought she detected a hint of genuine curiosity beneath the disinterest. 

“It wasn’t that. We were actually pretty good at that particular balancing act.”

“What happened?”

“We lost something. Something important. I think...I think it was my fault.”

There was a silence for a moment. Then he said thoughtfully, “You know what surprised me most when I started doing this?”

Felicity shrugged. “What?”

“The things that messed with my head the most weren’t the horrible things people do to each other. That makes sense. People have always hurt each other.”

“Poetic,” Felicity said wryly. 

“It’s the random accidents,” he continued, “the things that you never see coming, that have no explanation, where there’s no one to blame...those are the things that haunt me the most. It’s easiest to blame myself when things like that happen but I can’t do that. I have to forgive myself. Sometimes over and over and over again until I finally start to believe it. That's the hardest part of it all.” He stood. “Anyway, I better go. My pilot’s waiting.”

Felicity was on her feet before she realized what she was doing. Bruce stiffened when she wrapped her arms around his waist but after a second he relaxed and his fingers tightened against her back. “Be careful out there,” she mumbled.

“You too.” For a moment he let his chin drop onto her head. Then he pulled away. “I’ll stay in touch.”

That night Felicity dreamed of Mark Wilcox— not of him. She was him. She lay on a cold table while faceless figures in white hovered above her. The cut into her skin and slid cold metal plates against her bones. The pain was searing, overwhelming. She screamed. 

The dream shifted. She was lying in a stiff hospital bed. The walls around her were pale yellow and a vase of daisies wilted on the bedside table. A doctor entered the room. “Evacuation...bed rest...nothing to say you won’t be able to try again someday.” Felicity barely heard him. She was thinking about the tiny shoes in the box under her bed. The ‘my mom is the boss’ onesie Jerry had slipped her with a wink and a “Decaff coffee? Don’t worry I won’t tell.” 

Later that day she’d come home to find Oliver holding up paint chips to the wall in the guest room.

She’d leaned against the door frame, her hand running over her stomach, which was just beginning to hint at a bump. “What’re you doing?”

He squinted between two nearly identical pain chips. “What do you think— spring mint or forest spirit?”

She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind. “Green, Oliver? Really?”

His arm slid easily over hers, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “What? It’s a good gender neutral color. And since you don’t want to find out the sex in advance—”

“The spring mint one,” she interrupted. “And I don’t need to find out the sex because I know it’s a girl. Smoak women always have girls. It’s just a fact.”

He had laughed. “Whatever you say, boss-lady.”

Felicity woke to the sound of a bird singing outside her window. She lay in bed a while, thinking and watching diaphanous light dance across the wall. It was late, nearly eleven. Finally, she pushed herself out of bed and got dressed. 

John had left her the keys to their second car. Felicity gulped coffee from the Jitters of 8th and Prescott as she drove. The trees lining the street were fully aflame. Deep crimson and gold. A world on fire. Felicity pulled into the parking lot outside Town Hall and took the steps two at a time. 

The woman at reception eyed Felicity warily as she burst into the lobby in a flurry of leaves and fell against the front desk.

“Hi,” Felicity said breathlessly, pushing windswept hair out of her face. “Is Oliver here? I mean, is the mayor here?”

“He’s in a meeting,” the woman said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Um. No.” Felicity glanced at the woman’s nameplate. “Dolores,” she said, “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Good.” Felicity put on her most charming smile. “Do you think I could just pop back to Oliver’s office for a minute? I know where it is. I’ll just be a second, I swear.”

Dolores was unimpressed. “I can’t let you go in without an appointment.”

“Felicity?” 

Felicity turned toward the sound of her name. Oliver’s white dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows. A red and blue stripped tie hung loosely around his neck. He always started out the day with an impeccable tight knot and by lunch time it was hanging loose around his neck. The cut by his eye didn’t look nearly as bad without all the blood. That was good. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked.

“Sure.” Oliver glanced at the secretary. “I’ll take it from here, Dolores.”

“She didn’t have an appointment,” Dolores said grumpily. 

“Hurry, before she calls security on you,” Oliver muttered, his hand hovered over the small of her back as he led her into his office and shut the door behind them. Felicity looked around curiously. It looked the same as the last time she’d seen it. Same mahogany desk, same over stuffed armchair pushed into the corner. She’d fallen asleep in that chair more times than she could count. Oliver perched on the edge of the desk with his arms folded. Midday sun streamed through the glass, gilding his profile and turning his hair gold. “What is it?”

Good question. Felicity hadn’t planned this out very well. “Bruce had to go back to Gotham,” she offered.

“The Joker.” He nodded. “I saw in the paper.”

She nodded, hesitating. “I told him I’d stay here and help you track down Wilcox. If you want me to, I mean.”

“Of course,” he said quickly. “You should stay. I mean—” he ducked his head. “We’ll take any help we can get.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay then.”

He glanced back up at her, his eyes electric in the sunlight. “Good.”

“About last night—”

“I’m sorry—”

“You first,” they said at the same time.

Oliver let out a little huff of laughter and nodded. “Go.”

Felicity twisted the end of her sleeve between her fingers. “Last night...everything you said, you were right. I never should have asked you to wait. That wasn’t fair of me. I’m so sorry, Oliver.” 

Oliver shook his head. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard when you said you needed space.”

She ran a hand down her face. “We were a mess, weren’t we?”

His voice was soft. “We had a right to be.”

Felicity tried not to hope. “Is there any way we can, I don’t know...start over? Be friends?”

He shrugged. “How?”

“I guess...something like this.” Taking a deep breath, Felicity held out her hand. “Oliver Queen? Hi. I’m Felicity Smoak.”

He smiled then, and shaking his head slightly, he took her hand. “I know who you are.”


	8. Chapter 8

The wind shifted and the fine November mist morphed suddenly into a stinging sideways rain. Crouched against a chimney on a rooftop in Allston Ridge, Oliver shivered.

“I bet you're wishing you had that raincoat now.” Felicity’s voice was smug in his ear. 

“Nope.” Oliver gritted his teeth as a raindrop bypassed his hood and trickled, frigid, down his spine. “I’m good.”

“Really? Cause I can hear your teeth chattering.”

“No one’s going to be scared of a vigilante in a raincoat, Felicity.”

“No one’s going to be scared of a vigilante with a cold either,” she pointed out. “You could have at least taken an umbrella.”

Despite the rain needling Oliver’s exposed skin, he smiled. “And what? Used it to skewer my enemies?” 

It had been three weeks since their fight, three weeks since they decided to try to put the past behind them and be friends. He’d expected it to be harder. It scared him a little, how easily they’d slid into old patterns; how quickly he got used to having her in his life again. 

“Umbrella arrow,” Felicity said, thinking. “Now there’s an idea.” The lightness in her voice fell away. “Any sign of Wilcox?” 

“Not yet.” Oliver’s perch gave him a clear line of sight to the house across the street. It belonged to Guy Fisk, former SCPD chief of police. His name was sixth in Wilcox’s notebook; numbers one through five were already dead. “Are we sure Fisk is his next target?”

“No. But we’ve got Thea and Dig watching other names from the list...and Fisk was Wilcox’s supervisor when he was with SCPD. He took bribes, turned a blind eye to corruption in the department, and screwed Wilcox over on dozens of cases. It would make sense for Wilcox would go after him next.”

Oliver couldn’t say why but he had a feeling she was right. There was something pregnant about the night, as though the wind and the rain were holding their breath, waiting...

And waiting. 

And waiting.

Two hours later, Oliver was second guessing that feeling. His limbs, the ones that were still awake anyway, cramped painfully from crouching on the roof. There’d been no sign of Wilcox and despite Oliver’s supposedly water proof suit he was soaked to the bone. That wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst of it by far was the damp socks. Oliver had never finished reading Dante’s inferno (he’d been assigned it at each of the four colleges he attended) but he was pretty sure the ninth circle of hell was just a place where people were forced to walk around in damp socks all day.

Through the comm he heard Felicity yawn. “Maybe you should come back,” she murmured. He could picture her perfectly; soft and sleepy, slumped over her computers. A familiar pang of longing shot through him. She yawned again. “If he hasn’t shown up by now—”

Oliver was suddenly on his feet, his aching limbs forgotten. “He’s here.” Wilcox had just materialized on the sidewalk outside Fisk’s house. There was no other way to describe his sudden appearance: one minute the sidewalk was empty, the next he was there. Oliver waited until Wilcox vaulted over the fence into Fisk’s backyard, then he slid off the roof and followed him.

“I’m sending John and Thea to your location.” The sleepiness had disappeared from Felicity’s voice. “Be careful.”

The street was abandoned. As Oliver approached the fence a black cat shot out from the shrubs between Fisk’s house and the next. It hissed at him before disappearing into the darkness.

 _Bad luck,_ he thought. _Just what I need._

Oliver scaled the fence with ease and dropped silently into the backyard. His boots sank into the wet ground as he crept along the side of Fisk’s house, an arrow already knocked in his bow. When he reached the corner of the house Oliver peered around. 

Wilcox had pulled Fisk out of the house. He had the former Police Chief was down on his knees on the wet paving stones just outside the sliding glass doors- a gun fixed to his head. Fisk was still in his flannel pajamas, his grey hair flattened to his head by the rain. Over the sound of the wind, Oliver heard the old man groan. 

Oliver turned the corner, arrow trained on the center of Wilcox’s chest. “Put the gun down.”

Wilcox didn’t look up. “The Green Arrow,” he said conversationally. “I was wondering if I’d see you again.” He didn’t move the muzzle of the gun from Fisk’s temple. “I hope you didn’t take our last encounter too personally. I’m actually a big fan of your work.” 

“Let. Him. Go.” 

“Shoot him,” Fisk begged Oliver. His bloodshot eyes bugged slightly out of his head. “Do it! Shoot him!”

Wilcox’s voice was lazy. “Why would he do that? We both want justice. Not that you know the meaning of the word. We’re the same, him and me. I’m just...slightly less green.”

Fisk groaned again.

“This isn’t justice,” Oliver said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the rain and wind. “It’s murder.”

Wilcox blinked. “He took handouts from the Triad. He let killers walk free. He cared more about money than people’s lives. Killing him isn’t murder. It’s just...righting the scales. I thought you’d see that.” His face darkened. “I guess you’re not the man I thought you were.”

“Guess not,” Oliver replied.

They fired at the same time. Fisk slumped to the ground, a bullet hole in his head, as Wilcox stared down at the quivering shaft in his chest with mild interest. “Titanium plates under my skin,” he said. “Curtesy of some mad scientists at Wayne Inc. I suppose Wayne’s told you all about that by now. I’ll admit to whining a bit when they were going in but I must say they’ve come in handy.” Wilcox yanked the arrow out. It clattered to the wet paving stones. 

So shooting him wouldn’t do any good. Instead Oliver aimed his next shot at the gun in Wilcox’s hand. The weapon flew out of Wilcox’s grasp and disappeared into the dark grass.

For a moment Oliver was aware of everything: the rain pounding on his shoulders; the smell of rotting leaves; a dog barking in the distance—

Then Wilcox launched himself at Oliver. Oliver felt the wind go out of him as they tumbled together to the wet grass. There was no technique to Wilcox’s fighting style, just brute strength. But it hardly mattered because he was _strong_. Stronger than Merlyn. Stronger than Ra’s. Stronger than Slade on a Mirakuru high. They struggled for dominance, Oliver landing one punch for every three of Wilcox’s. 

Then Wilcox’s hands closed around Oliver’s neck. Oliver’s hand scrabbled in the grass for his bow but they came up empty. He couldn’t breathe. Black spots began to dance around the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t feel anything but surging desperation as Wilcox’s thumbs tightened against his trachea, he couldn’t hear anything but a thin high pitched ringing—

_I’m going to die, he thought._

Then his hand closed around something in the slick grass. Not his bow— a rock. He brought it up with as much force as he had left in his body. Wilcox let go, staggered to his feet, as blood poured down the side of his face.

Oliver knew he should get up but he couldn’t. His body was drained. He was empty; he had nothing left. 

Suddenly two red tipped arrows were quivering in Wilcox’s chest. 

Thea fell to her knees beside Oliver. She slid an arm around his back and pulled him into a sitting position. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine,” he mumbled. “Wilcox—”

“He’s gone, Ollie. He’s gone. It’s over.”

Oliver forced his eyes up to where Wilcox had been standing a moment ago. Thea was right; he had disappeared into the night. Oliver’s head was spinning. The world seemed to tilt beneath him in the darkness as he struggled to his feet and stared numbly down at Fisk’s crumpled body. Blood was still leaking from the former police chief’s head, pooling in the cracks between the flagstones. 

The rain fell harder. In the distance sirens screamed.

 

 

Oliver’s second encounter with Wilcox left him with several bruised ribs and a concussion. Thea ordered him to take a week off or she’d finish him off herself. For once, Oliver didn’t argue. He needed the time the rethink things. Clearly, what they were doing to catch Wilcox wasn’t working. They needed to take a step back. Recalibrate. 

Three days after the fight, Oliver was working out on the salmon ladder when Felicity stepped out of the elevator. She was wearing a light yellow raincoat, her cheeks flushed from cold. A halo of water droplets glittered in her hair. 

“Hey.” He dropped to the ground and grabbed a towel from the stack beside the salmon ladder. “What are you doing here? I don’t usually see you when the sun’s still out.”

“Well, the sun’s not out, technically speaking. It’s still raining, I mean.” Felicity pushed a lock of damp hair out of her face. “I left my phone here last night so I came by to pick it up. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your work out.”

“You didn’t.” He scrubbed the towel over the back of his neck and nodded to the computer station. “I put your phone on the desk.”

“Thanks.” Felicity slipped the phone into her pocket and turned back to him. She raised an eyebrow at his sweat-sheened torso. “I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy.”

Oliver shrugged. “This is me taking it easy.”

A smile danced around her lips. “Has anyone every told you you’re kind of a masochist?”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Once or twice.” 

She hesitated then stepped closer. “Hey, are you okay?”

Oliver sank onto the metal bench by his training equipment, slipping his arms into the sleeves of a grey zip up. “I’ve been stabbed and shoved off a mountain. I can handle a few bruised ribs and a concussion.”

“I’m sure you can,” Felicity said, crossing her arms. “I don’t mean physically. Since the fight with Wilcox you’ve just seemed...in your head a lot.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

Felicity dropped her purse to the floor and sank down beside him on the bench. “Oliver, I know we’re not together anymore but I could tell when you were lying before we ever started dating. And I can still tell.”

He recognized the look on her face. She wasn’t leaving until he spilled his guts. More surprising, he realized that he wanted to. “I... Wilcox said something the other night. And it’s just been stuck in my head.”

Felicity nodded. “What did he say?”

“That he admired my work,” Oliver said bitterly. “He honestly seemed surprised I’d want to stop him killing Fisk. He said...he said we’re the same. And honestly, I get it. When he...when he had the gun to Fisk’s head...I could see myself. The way I used to be.” His voice quieted. “What I must have looked like.”

“Well, he’s wrong,” Felicity said immediately. “You’re not like him.”

“I’m exactly like him, Felicity,” Oliver burst out, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “And don’t say I’m not because I don’t kill people _anymore_. I’m still that person. No matter how many people I save, no matter how hard I try to be better, I will always have that blood on my hands. And the worst part is...some of the people I killed- I’d do it again. Because at the end of the day, that’s who I am.” The words fell from his mouth like bitter stones. “A killer.”

Behind her rain splattered glasses, Felicity’s gaze was a steady blue. “Oliver, that is fucking bullshit.” 

Oliver sat up straighter. Felicity rarely said anything worse than ‘frack.’

“The things you’ve been through, they would have killed most people. Not only did you survive, you came out the other side with this intact.” She laid her hand over his heart. Her fingers were hot against his sweat damp skin. Still, he shivered. “I know you still have trouble believing it but you’re a good man. With a good heart. Wilcox might think he knows you but he doesn’t. Take it from someone who does.”

Oliver was silent. Felicity sighed, letting her hand drop. He felt the loss deep in his bones. “Do you remember the episode of Doctor Who with the star whale?” she asked.

Of course he did. They’d watched it three times. Each time Felicity had cried a little bit harder at the end until the last time she’d buried her face in the crook of his neck and sobbed. 

_“Felicity,” Oliver said, trying not to smile as he rubbed her back, “it has a happy ending. Why are you crying?”_

_She mumbled something unintelligible into his neckline._

_He kissed the top of her head. “Come out of there. I have no idea what you just said.”_

_She turned her face up to his. Her fingers were curled into the collar of his shirt, her eyes red rimmed from crying. “The people were so mean to it but when it got free it still stayed to help them.”_

_A few strands of hair were stuck to the tear tracks on her face. Oliver brushed them away. Trying not to chuckle he said, “Can I do anything to make you feel better?”_

_She sat up slowly, dragging the back of her hand across her nose. “Do we have any of that pie left?” she asked, her voice hopeful._

_He smothered a chuckle. “The blueberry or the key lime?”_

_A smile spread across her tear stained face. “Both.”_

“Yeah,” Oliver said. “I remember it.”

“And do you remember what the Doctor said about the whale? ‘All that pain and misery and loneliness... and it just made it kind.’”

He gave her a half smile. “Are you saying I’m like the star whale?” 

Felicity shook her head. “No. Because nothing made you kind. You chose to be all on your own. You choose it every day. To me, that’s even more impressive. That’s what makes you a hero. That’s what Wilcox doesn’t get.”

“Yeah, well,” he said softly, “I had help.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows. “Still counts.” 

They had scooched closer at some point. They were only inches apart. Oliver hadn’t been this close to her face in a long time. She wasn’t wearing lipstick, he realized suddenly. Oliver knew Felicity well enough to know she never left the house without at least a tinted gloss. She must have been in a rush or thought she wasn’t going to see anyone... her lipstick was such a part of her daily uniform that there was a stark intimacy to seeing her without it. Almost as though he was looking at her naked. 

He wanted to kiss her. Oh god, he wanted to kiss her. It was a horrible idea and Oliver knew it; there was too much history, too much hurt, too much broken trust and memories for anything between them to possibly end well. He knew this. Somehow that knowledge did nothing to quench the overwhelming desire building in the pit of his stomach.

 _Just once_ , he thought, _just once_ —

Their faces were only centimeters apart now. Felicity was blinking rapidly, as though she knew what he was thinking—

The elevator doors slid open. Oliver and Felicity jerked apart as Thea stepped into the lair, shaking the hood of her raincoat off her dark hair. 

Felicity jumped to her feet, her face flushed deep red. “I should go. I have a teleconference with my VP in half an hour. Thanks again for the phone, Oliver.”

“Right.” Oliver stood slowly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Course. See you later.”

“Bye, Felicity,” Thea said, looking surprised as she glanced past Felicity at Oliver. “What was that about?” she asked, as Felicity disappeared behind the elevator doors.

“We were just talking,” Oliver said shortly, tugging the zipper on his hoodie up to his chin as though he thought his sister might be able to see the imprint Felicity’s hand had surely left on his chest. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Thea sighed, crossing her arms. “Honestly, Oliver? I’m worried about you.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Has Felicity said anything about staying?”

“Staying?”

Thea looked at him like he was an idiot. “When all this is over with Wilcox. I assume she’s planning to go back to Gotham.”

Oliver shrugged, staring down at the floor. “Yeah, I assume she is.” 

“Right. And how are you going to feel when that happens?”

“I’ll be fine,” Oliver said tersely.

Thea sighed again. “I really didn’t want to tell you this way...Oliver, I know.”

“You know?” he said slowly. “You know...what?” 

“I know that Felicity was pregnant. And that you lost it.”

Oh. Oliver’s face froze. Whatever he was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. 

Thea gave him a sad smile. “I figured it out when you couldn’t stop smiling for weeks straight. And Felicity stopped drinking coffee— well, caffeinated coffee, anyway. I’m not stupid.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything at the time. You never brought it up and I didn’t want to make it worse for you. Oliver, I love Felicity. And I feel awful for her and I don’t blame her for doing what she needed to do to deal with it. But you’re my brother. And I don’t want to see you get hurt when she leaves again.”

Oliver forced his gaze not to waver from hers, tried not to let his voice sound as tired as he felt. “I’ll be fine, Thea.”

She squeezed his arm, giving him a sad smile. “Okay, Oliver. Whatever you say.”

Thea drifted away to the training mats and Oliver was left alone with his thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

After the confrontation at Fisk’s house Wilcox went dark. Between Oliver, Dig, Thea, and SCPD, the rest of the names on Wilcox’s list were under constant surveillance but Wilcox didn’t attack again. After two weeks, Lance had to pull some of his officers for other assignments. 

“You catch a whiff of this guy and I’ll give you all the support I got,” he said, rubbing a hand down the dark stubble on his cheeks. “But we’re stretched thin as it is. I can’t have ten of my guys just sitting around waiting for this whack job to show up.”

Oliver shook his hand. “I understand. You take care of the city. We’ll catch Wilcox.”

“He looks tired,” Thea observed after Lance was gone.

“We’re all tired,” Oliver said. 

“Do you think Wilcox is dead?” Thea said, hope in her voice. “I did hit him with three arrows. 

Oliver shook his head. “No. I shot him twice before you got there and he ripped them out like it was nothing. He’s just lying low. Planning.”

Thea looked at him sharply. “Planning what?”

Oliver shook his head. “I don’t know.”

With Wilcox in the wind, the team’s attention drifted. The Triad’s human trafficking activities had picked up again in the last few weeks. Felicity found herself wondering guiltily whether that was because they’d all been distracted trying to catch Wilcox. 

Most of the Triad’s victims were smuggled into the city in shipping containers brought in through the West End pier. Oliver and Thea spent long nights patrolling through the docks searching shipping containers for human cargo while Dig ran point. Most of the times they were too late. The containers had already been emptied. Sometimes there was evidence. Blood on the metal walls. The smell of urine. Occasionally a crumpled up plastic water bottle. Three or four times they clashed with Triad members skulking in the dark, waiting for shipments to come in. 

Oliver found it hard to restrain the amount of force he used when taking them down. He tried to pull his punches but Felicity couldn’t help noticing that several of perps the team handed over to Lance were more banged up than usual. Broken bones. A few bleeding from arrow shots to non-life threatening areas.

No one said anything. To be a human trafficker a person had to climb all the way down to the last rung of the scumbag ladder and for once the whole team was on the same page. 

One bitterly cold night a week before Thanksgiving Oliver shot the lock off a nondescript grey storage container to find its human cargo still inside.

Forty-two people. Seven of them children no older than eleven or twelve.

They were all dead. 

The wind that howled through the rows of containers went unnoticed as Oliver and Thea moved through the metal tomb, checking the bodies for survivors. In a shadowy back corner Oliver found a young woman in her early twenties. Huddled against her side was the Triad’s smallest victim. A toddler, her dirty thumb still stuffed between her lips.

Back in the lair, taking in the scene through the infrared camera on Oliver’s suit, Felicity felt her stomach heave. She turned just in time to retch into the wastebasket beside her. 

Felicity was no stranger to violence and cruelty. Sometimes though, the world still managed to surprise her. What had that child, not even old enough to spell her own name, done to deserve such a fate?

There was no answers to those kind of questions. There never would be. There was only the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach… and anger.

Felicity turned off the feed from Oliver’s camera, unable to stand the sight any longer, but the little girl stayed with her. She wore her hair in pigtails. Long, inky eyelashes dusted the ridge of her cheekbones. Her cheeks were still round with baby fat. 

Felicity vomited again. Shaking slightly, she forced herself out of her chair and stumbled to the bathroom in the back of the lair where she washed out her mouth and splashed cold water on her face. Again and again Felicity plunged her hands into the icy water until her hands and face were numb and so was she.

When the rest of the team got back half an hour later they were arguing. 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Thea said, laying her bow back in it holster. “Those people were valuable to the Triad. As awful as it is to say, they’re only worth a price alive. Why would they let them just die in there like that?”

“They knew we were patrolling the docks,” Dig said, shaking his head. “They chose to lose their investment rather than get themselves caught picking it up.”

“So this is our fault,” Thea said. “Fuck. _Fuck!_ ”

“It’s not our fault.” Oliver’s voice was quiet. They all looked at him.

“Oliver – ”

“It’s not our fault, Thea. It is our responsibility. And we’re gonna find the ones that did this. And when we do-” his hand tightened to a fist by his side “- we’re going to end them.”

That night Oliver gave Felicity a ride back to her hotel. She’d moved out of the Diggle’s into the Star City Harbor Hotel after a week. Dig and Lyla had protested, saying she was welcome to stay as long as she was in the city, but she’d started to feel like an imposition. The Diggles’ home ran on quiet domestic rhythms: rushed breakfasts; piles of shoes by the door; arguments over what to have for dinner and when. Bath time. Dig and Lyla curled up the couch after Sara had been put to bed, whispering softly to each other. 

It was warm and intimate and it belonged to them. As much as she loved them, Felicity had no desire to be the permanent house guest. Besides it wasn’t like she was living in squalor now. The Harbor Hotel was one of Wayne’s latest acquisitions and Felicity was staying in the penthouse for free. It was high luxury living, if a little lonely. 

They drove in silence. Felicity leaned her head against the cool glass, watching the city lights slide into neon streaks beyond the window. Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. She let them flutter shut. 

“We’re here.”

Felicity forced her eyes open. Oliver had pulled up in front of the hotel and turned off the car. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy, like they were dipped in lead. She forced her hand to reach for her seat belt.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked, as she fumbled around in the shadows around her feet for her purse. Felicity straightened up, her eyes drawn to him. In the car’s dark interior he was a shadowy silhouette. He was facing forward, his hands still on the wheel. He turned his head slightly to look at her. “What we found tonight… if you weren’t okay it would be understandable.”

Felicity had meant to nod. She had meant to say “I’m fine” or “It was awful but I’m okay.” What came out instead was a dry sob. She crumpled, her body shaking all over as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She heard a soft click as Oliver undid his seat belt, then he was pulling her against him, his arms wrapping around her, one cradling the back of her neck, the other twining into her hair. Gentle shushing noses fell from his mouth as he cradled her, as tenderly as if she were a child herself. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

How? she wanted to say. How could it be okay when children barely older than babies were dying in their own filth in shipping container meant to hold car parts and freezers of dead shrimp?

Felicity wanted to do something, she wanted to fix it, and yet no matter how hard she tried, how many Triad members they brought down, that little girl would still be dead. And nothing would bring her back. 

After a few minutes her sobs faded into gulping hiccups. “I’m getting snot on your jacket,” she said, sniffling and trying to pull away. Oliver’s arms tightened around her. 

“I don’t care.”

Felicity was too tired to fight him. She huffed a sigh and softened against him, letting her hand curl against his chest. Her wet cheek pressed into the leather of his jacket. She could hear his heart’s steady beat beneath her ear. Slowly, the sound pulled her back into herself.

“I kept thinking,” Felicity said, “that little girl. She was the same age as…” she broke off. 

“I know,” Oliver said softly. “I thought it too.”

Felicity made to sit up and this time he let her. She scrubbed at her cheeks. “The world’s real shit sometimes.”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Silence settled over them like a warm blanket. Felicity didn’t know why she lingered; only that suddenly she was loath to leave the car. “Thanks for driving me back. And for, um, letting me blubber all over you.”

She heard the smile in his voice. “Anytime.”

Get out of the car, Felicity thought. Her body refused to comply. I’m comfortable here, it protested. I’m safe. It’s warm. I want to stay here. With him. 

Get out, she insisted. Go on. She forced her hand to the door latch, avoiding Oliver’s gaze. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Felicity,” he said. 

Something about the way he spoke her name made her chest tighten with a hollow ache. Every cell in her body protested as she slid out of the car and into the cold night.

 

 

The next morning Felicity was sitting in bed eating breakfast when Bruce called. She snatched up the phone before the second ring.

“Are you okay? I saw the clip of you fighting the Joker on that bus. It looked—” _like he beat you up pretty bad before he got away_ “—not good.”

“I’m fine.” His voice gave nothing away as usual. Damn stubborn man. He could have two broken legs and he’d still insist he was fine. 

“You know who you remind me of?” Felicity said suddenly, flopping back against the small army of pillows behind her. “The Black Knight from Monty Python. Gets all of his limbs cut off and still insists it’s just a flesh wound.”

“I assure you I still have all my limbs.”

“My point still stands.”

“I’m fine, Felicity. How’s the search for Wilcox going?”

She sighed and stabbed at the pile of eggs growing cold on her plate. “The search for Wilcox is going just about as well as your crusade against the Joker. We tracked him down two weeks ago and Oliver and Thea both shot him full of arrows but he still got away. He’s been lying low ever since. I’ve got every traffic and satellite camera in Star City looking for him but so far nothing.” She dropped her fork, the congealing lump no longer appealing. “Are you sure your scientists didn’t stick him with a GPS tracker?” she asked hopefully.

“No,” Bruce said. “But that’s actually why I’m calling. I paid a visit to one of the men who worked on Wilcox the other day. If you can find him, I think there might be a way to put him down.”

Felicity sat up straighter. “What is it? How do we stop him?”

There was a clatter as though he’d dropped the phone, then silence. 

“Bruce? Hello?” Felicity could just make out the sounds of voices. Bruce talking to Alfred probably. A second later he picked up the phone again. 

“I have to go.” His voice was tight. “I’ll call you back later.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Later.” 

He hung up. 

Worry gnawed at Felicity throughout the day. She tried to distract herself with work: filing patents, answering the five thousand emails that had piled up in her inbox, making calls back to the home office. But between the scene in shipping container the night before and her concern for Bruce she found it hard to concentrate. By lunch time she found it impossible to sit still any longer. 

Coffee. That was what she needed. The mug on her desk from breakfast had been empty for hours. Felicity sent off a final email to the Senior Vice President of Marketing, then threw on her jacket and grabbed her purse from the end of the bed. 

It was a bright, blustery day, the sky a startling cornflower blue. Felicity shielded her eyes against the sun as she exited the hotel lobby, winding a giant knitted scarf around her neck to protect it from the cutting wind. 

There was a Jitters two blocks over, by the entrance to Star City Commons. Felicity headed that way. 

A silvery bell tinkled overhead as Felicity ducked into the coffee shop. The familiar smell of roasting beans washed over her, soothing her frazzled nerves. She ordered a large non-fat latte and a blueberry muffin. Turning around a few minutes later, overfull mug cradled in her hands, Felicity walked smack into the chest of the tall man standing behind her in line. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry--” she grabbed a bunch of napkins from the dispenser behind her and dabbed frantically at the man’s jacket. “Are you okay? I didn’t burn you, did I?”

“Felicity?” 

Felicity looked up, blinking once. 

Brown eyes. Dark hair. Crooked half smile. 

“Ted!” She froze mid-dab. “What are you doing here?” It hadn’t been so long since she’d him that she should have forgotten his face but she had somewhat, his features muddled in her mind. He was far more handsome in person than she remembered. 

He grinned down at her. The tip of his nose was pink with cold, his hair windswept into a dark haystack. “Getting tea. I have a bit of a cold.” 

He did sound a bit nasally. Felicity felt a wave of affection wash over her. “I mean, what are you doing in Star City?” she said, smiling. 

“Ah, right.” Ted scratched the back of his head. “The International Technology and Engineering Conference is at the Star City Convention Center this week. I texted you a week ago asking if you were going but you, ah, didn’t get back to me.”

“Tech conference?” Felicity wracked her brain for some memory of what he was talking about. Suddenly it came back to her. She’d been in the middle of guiding Oliver during a high speed chase when Ted’s text had come in. She’d meant to get back to him later...apparently she’d forgotten. She grimaced. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I did see that and then it slipped my mind. Things have been kind of crazy here lately.”

“No worries,” he said genially. He nodded toward an empty table by the windows. “Do you wanna sit down for a minute?” He glanced at his watch. “I have half an hour before I have to head back.”

She nodded. “I’d like that.”

“So how have you been?” He asked as they sat down. “I thought you were only going to be in Star City for a few days? It's been a little longer than that. Did something come up?”

_Oh, just a titanium reinforced homicidal maniac._

Felicity wrapped her chilled hands around her warm mug. “Work. My boss had a project here that kind of got away from him. He had to head back to Gotham so I told him I’d stay and try to sort things out.”

Ted leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his dark waves. “I saw him on the news the other day. Wayne. He committed millions of dollars to a new anti-Joker task force but I kind of doubt it’ll make a difference. How many times has that guy broken out of prison now? Three? Four?”

“They’ll catch him,” Felicity said, trying to inject more confidence into her voice than she felt. Had Bruce gotten a tip on the Joker’s whereabouts earlier? Is that why he’d had to rush off the phone? 

Ted let the legs of his chair fall, his face suddenly turning serious. “Felicity, do you know how much longer you’re going to be here? I’ve, ah… I mean. What I’m trying to say is, I’m still up for that second date if you are.”

“Oh.” Felicity didn't know what to say. Outside, cars swept by on the street, sending small tsunamis of dirty water left from the weeks of rain over the edge of the sidewalk.

After a minute Ted answered the question for her. “There’s not going to be a second date, is there?” he said softly.

“I don’t think so." She lifted her eyes back to Ted’s. “Being back in Star City, it’s made me realize that some things in my past that I thought I was over... I’m not over them. I’m not sure I’ll ever be over them.” 

She thought back to the previous night in Oliver’s car. How badly she had wanted to stay there with him. How her body had protested when she’d forced herself out into the night. How tenderly he’d cup the nape of her neck as she sobbed against his chest. And two weeks ago in the lair when he confessed to thinking he was just like Wilcox. They'd been sitting close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his thigh. For a second she'd thought he was going to kiss her. She'd wanted him to. 

“I’m so sorry, Ted. I never wanted to hurt you.”

To her surprise, he shook his head. “Hey, don’t apologize. I knew you weren’t looking for something serious when we started this whole thing. I’m the one who tried to make it into something else.”

Felicity reached across the table and took his hand. “You’re an amazing guy. I know you’ll find someone amazing. And I don’t regret anything.”

He squeezed her hand. “Neither do it.” After a moment, he stood, buttoning his coat. “Well, I should go. The guys at the conference will be missing me. I’m planning on unveiling my physics professor joke at dinner tonight.” 

Felicity stood as well. “As your friend, I feel morally obligated to tell you that joke is awful.”

His easy smile was back already. She wondered if anything kept him down for long. Or if he was just really good at hiding his real emotions. “We’ll have to agree to disagree about that.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Goodbye, Felicity

“Bye, Ted.”

She watched him disappear around the corner before turning back to her coffee. 

After Jitters Felicity didn’t go back to the hotel. Instead she crossed the street and walked through the wrought iron gates into the Star City Commons. The wind chased fluffy clouds across the sky. Branches near empty of leaves arched over the winding paths.

Felicity took the path to the duck pond, her shoulders hunched against the cold. She couldn’t stop thinking about Oliver. She had ended things with Ted because of him. Because of how she felt about him. 

How did she feel about him? 

She'd been running from the question for so long, the thought of finally confronting it terrified her. But if she didn't now she'd never do it. She'd just keep clinging to the past, unable to move forward. Felicity had thought there were some things that couldn’t be fixed - that things between the two of them couldn't be fixed. Maybe she’d been wrong. If she’d stayed... If Oliver had given her more time to sort herself out... If they hadn’t been so quick to give up on each other, to let each other go. Would they still be together today? Would they be happy?

If, if, if.

Felicity walked faster. 

In all of the questions reeling through her mind, one thing suddenly seemed abundantly clear. Felicity had never been able to move on from Oliver because in her heart of hearts she had never wanted to. Not ever. Not once. She’d hoped that might change as time went on but it never had.

Even now, the past with him seemed preferable to a future with anyone else. 

Felicity came to an abrupt stop. She had reached the duck pond. The surface of the water rippled in the wind, a distorted mirror of the blue sky above. A lonely duck drifted through the vines of a fat willow tree.

Felicity barely saw the sight before her. Her mind was churning. She’d come back to Star City because of Wilcox. But now she was questioning whether she’d be able to force herself to leave when all this was said and done. And that was because of Oliver. 

Because, despite everything, she still loved him. 

Because, despite everything, she was still in love with him.

Felicity slumped onto a empty bench, barely feeling the cold wood beneath her legs.


	10. Chapter 10

Thanksgiving came. The Diggles’ were hosting and Lyla’s family was supposed to attend but a freak snow storm kept them stuck in Minneapolis. Thea was spending the day with Alex so in the end it was just Oliver, Felicity, John, Lyla, and Sara gathered around Diggles’ dining room table on Thanksgiving afternoon.

By six o’clock they were all stuffed to the gills and the special kind of sleepy that only comes from eating your own weight in cranberry stuffing. Only Sara still had energy, probably because she’d had turned up her nose at most of the menu. They migrated to the living room, each collapsing onto the first horizontal surface they came too. Oliver sprawled across the floor beside Sara, who had pulled out a box of wooden blocks to play with.

“That’s a nice tower, baby,” Lyla said from the couch. She was lying on her side, her hand running unconsciously over her stomach which was just beginning to show a small bump.

“It’s a castle,” Sara said without looking up from her project. “I’m the princess and daddy is the knight.”

“What am I?” Oliver asked.

Sara thought about it. “You’re the dragon.”

“And Aunt Felicity?” John said.

“Aunt Felicity is the mean old troll that guards the drawbridge,” Felicity said, smiling. She was leaning back against the bottom of the couch, a glass of red wine dangling precariously from one hand. It was a bad habit of hers- holding glasses from top instead of the stem like a normal person. She wore a fuzzy looking light blue sweater and her lipstick was the color of pink cotton candy. With her hair falling in soft golden waves around her face, Oliver had never seen anyone less troll-like in his life.

“Yeah!” Sara agreed enthusiastically. “And if you answer her riddles wrong you get sentenced to a 100 years of tickling

“Wow, 100 years?” Oliver said, forcing his eyes back to his goddaughter. “That’s a really long time."

Sara just shrugged and placed another block onto the tower, her legs pedaling happily behind her. “Momma’s like a 100.”

“Sara!” Lyla exclaimed, sitting up while Dig almost laughed himself off the armchair.

Oliver’s gaze slid back to Felicity. She was grinning into her wine and patting Lyla comfortingly on the knee.  
Something had changed between them over the last week, though Oliver was sure what exactly. All he knew was that several times he’d caught Felicity staring at him in the lair when she thought he wasn’t looking, an expression he couldn’t quite identify on her face. As soon as he caught her eye, she looked away, her face flushing. She also refused to be in a room alone with him. Anytime they were left just the two of them she suddenly remembered a work call she had to make or some piece of faulty wiring in the back of the lair that needed tinkering and ran away.

Oliver couldn’t help wondering if he’d done something to upset her. There had been a moment in the car when she’d tried to pull away and his arms had tightened around her. It had been a reflex-- to hold her close, to comfort her. At the time it had felt right. Now he thought he might have crossed some invisible line. They’d come so far in their relationship the past few weeks. Had he really ruined it already?

Felicity set down her wine glass and struggled up from the floor. “I’m getting more pie. Anybody else want something from the kitchen?”

Dig shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, Smoak. I’m never eating again. And it’s your fault, you know,” he said, pointing at Oliver. “Six side dishes, man? Really? Did you think the entire league of assassins was coming over for dinner?”

Laughing, Felicity shook her head. “More for me then.”

Oliver waited a minute after she disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen then pushed himself off the floor and went after her.

Felicity was standing at the counter with a forkful of key lime halfway to her mouth when he stepped into the kitchen. She lowered the fork, a guilty expression on her face. “I wasn’t eating straight out of the pie. I mean, I was. But only a little bit.”

Oliver smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Well,” she said, avidly avoiding his gaze, “we should probably go back--”

Oliver bit the bullet. “Felicity, is everything okay with us?”

A small crease appeared between her brows. “What are you talking about?”

“I kind of feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” she said automatically. Oliver gave her a look. Her shoulders fell. “Okay, so maybe I’ve been avoiding you a little.” He raised his eyebrows and Felicity grimaced. “Or a lot. I’m sorry.”

Oliver could tell she was struggling with something. He just wished he knew what it was. “Hey," he said softly, "whatever’s going on, you can talk to me.”

In the fading orange light pouring through the kitchen window, Felicity seemed to glow. Her hair blazed gold and her eyes were the blue of the center of a flame. She’d always claimed they were grey but they were so much more than that. They were aquamarine and pewter and velvety navy around the edge, the color of a midnight sky. “Oliver, I--” before she could finish there was a crash from the living room. Oliver and Felicity shared a wide eyed look and rushed back to the living room.

Lyla was doubled over in pain, one hand braced against the back of the couch, the other clutching her stomach. Broken glass glittered on the floor at her feet. John was bent over her, rubbing her back and murmuring in her ear.

“Oh my god, Lyla,” Felicity said. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“Mommy?” Sara said, staring up at her mother with wide, fearful eyes.

“It’s okay, baby,” Dig said to Sara, his voice steady and calm. “Mommy’s gonna be fine. She just need to go to the doctor.” He looked at Oliver and Felicity. “It’s probably just cramps. She had them with Sara too. But I still wanna take her in just to make sure. Would you two mind—”

“We’ll stay with Sara,” Oliver said firmly. “Go.”

Dig nodded tightly. “Thank you.”

Sara started to cry as soon as her parents’ car left the driveway. Felicity scooped her up and rubbed her back, making soft shushing noises. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetie pie. Mommy’s gonna be fine.” But when glanced at Oliver over the top of Sara’s dark head, worry was etched into her face. He knew what she was thinking: this was just like what had happened to her. One moment she’d been fine. The next she was doubled over in pain. Oliver had rushed her to the hospital but there was nothing they could do. She’d lost the pregnancy.

“It’s going to be fine,” Oliver said. “Everything’s going to be fine.” The promise sounded hollow even to him.

Eventually Sara wore herself out and fell asleep on Felicity’s lap on the couch.

Oliver leaned against the doorframe, watching Sara’s small back rise and fall.

“You don’t think--” Felicity began.

“No,” Oliver said. They couldn’t go there. Not yet. “I’m sure it’s what John said. Cramps. They’ll be fine. Both of them.”

Felicity nodded, biting her lip. “She’s such a good kid,” she murmured, staring down at Sara.

“She is,” Oliver agreed. “The best.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the streetlights flicker to life outside the windows. Suddenly Felicity said, “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if...” she trailed off.

Oliver hesitated. He didn’t know if it was sleepiness, or the wine, or the worry about Lyla, but it was like all of their walls had come tumbling down. “If we hadn’t lost the baby?”

Felicity nodded, absently winding one of Sara’s dark curls around her finger. “I wonder about it sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Oliver said softly. “I think about it.”

She looked up at him then. He couldn’t identify the emotions in her eyes. He only knew that whatever it was, the same look was mirrored in his own.

Headlights bounced around the room as a car pulled into the driveway and a minute later they heard the key turn in the front door. Felicity straightened up as John walked into the room.her hand resting protectively on Sara’s back. “How’s Lyla? And the baby?”

John leaned against the doorway, scrubbed a hand down his face. “They’re all right. Both of them. She just had a few false contractions. They’re keeping her overnight for observation but it’s just a formality. Everyone’s okay.”

“Good,” Oliver said. “That’s good.”

“Thanks again for watching Sara,” Dig said. “You guys can head out. I'll call you if anything happens.”

 

Felicity nodded off while Oliver drove her back to the hotel. Seemingly all the wine had finally caught up with her. When they pulled up in front of the entrance, he rocked her shoulder gently. “Felicity. We’re here.”

“’M not a marshmallow,” she muttered, batting his hand away. “Go home, marshmallow.”

Smothering a laugh, Oliver shut off the ignition and went around to her side of the car. “Come on now, up we go.” He hoisted her easily in his arms. She loomed so large in his mind that sometimes he forgot how small she actually was. She curled into him instinctively and something tightened in his chest.

There was a special elevator that went up to the penthouse suite. Oliver managed to get Felicity to wake up long enough to mumbled the code for it to him before she fell back asleep.

The elevator doors opened straight into the penthouse living room. Oliver couldn’t help but be impressed by the view. The walls were almost all glass. Far below, the city sparkled like a jewelry box of full diamonds.

Oliver carried Felicity into the bedroom and and set her down gently on the bed. She inhaled deeply and burrowed into the pillows while Oliver gently tugged off her shoes and laid a blanket over her. A lock of hair had fallen over her face. Oliver found himself to brushing it back. His fingers trailed gently across the sweet curve of her cheek before he tucked the hair behind her ear. A feeling he couldn’t quite identify reared up inside of him as he pulled his hand away. Regret, perhaps, that he’d ever taken this sight for granted.

The elevator took a long time to come back up. Oliver waited with his hands stuffed in his pockets, watching the city lights wink up at him. The elevator doors had just slid open when he heard her say his name.

Oliver turned around. Felicity was standing in the doorway to the bedroom. She was barefoot, her hair mussed from pressing against the pillow. Her lipstick had rubbed off. She looked usually pale in the dim room, a shadow of a dream.

“Go back to sleep,” he said gently. “I’ll let myself out.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Worry stabbed at him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’ve made so many mistakes, Oliver. I don’t want to make another one.” Her breath shook as she drew it in. Something like hope fluttered in Oliver's chest. “I love you," she said. "I’m in love with you. Still. Always.”

The room was utterly still. A cloud shifted overhead and moonlight flooded the walls, casting them in a pale blue glow. This was a dream, Oliver thought vaguely. It must be. How many times had he dreamed up a similar scenario? Too many to count.

“Please say something,” Felicity said after a minute. “Say you don’t feel the same. Say you’ve moved on. Say it's too late. Say you hate me. It’s okay. Just say something, Oliver, please.” Her voice cracked. That was what snapped him out of it. Suddenly he didn’t care if it was a dream or not. It didn’t matter. All he cared about was Felicity standing there in her bare feet telling him she loved him.

Oliver didn’t remember moving but he must have because next thing he knew was standing in front of her, his hands cupping her face, tilting it up to him just like he’d done in the hospital the day Sara was born. Her hands came up to grip his wrists as she gazed up at him, her eyes searching, hopeful. His thumbs rubbed across the ridge of her cheekbones. “I love you, too,” he said. And then he was kissing her. The moment she kissed him back he knew it was real. No dream had ever kissed him like that. No dream was so solid or so warm. No dream sighed so perfectly against his lips, like he was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. It was real. She was real. This was real.

 

Felicity rose up on her toes to wind her arms around Oliver’s neck, pressing herself flush against him. After so long of being apart from him she was overcome with need for him. She needed him like she needed water to drink, food to eat, air to breath. Given the choice between those things and him, she’d choose him. He wasn’t a need after all. He was a part of her. A part she’d been missing for far too long. A part she never intended to let go again.

“Say it again,” Oliver said, half an order, half a plea. “Say it again, Felicity. Please.”

“I love you, Oliver. I love you. I--”

His kiss swallowed the rest of her words. Felicity squeaked in surprise as his hands dropped to her ass and he hoisted her up. Her legs immediately haloed his hips, her arms tightening around his neck.

Oliver walked them backward into her bedroom. He didn’t bother to shut the door before lowering her onto the bed and crawling on top of her. Felicity’s thighs fell open for him automatically and he settled between them, in the spot that had always felt as though it had been made just for him.

Their hands were everywhere. Felicity lost her sweater, Oliver his pants. Then Felicity’s skirt was on the floor and she was tugging Oliver’s shirt of his head, desperate for the heat of his bare skin against hers.

Felicity palmed Oliver through his boxers as they fell back to the pillows, dragging her fingernails lightly up and down his length over the thin material. He choked back a groan and jerked against her hand. His hand, which had been slowly pressing down the slope of her stomach, slipped between her legs. He dragged one finger down the crotch of her panties before pushing the delicate fabric aside and dipped his fingers inside. “God, Felicity,” he said, swallowing thickly. “You’re so wet.”

”Oliver,” she groaned, as his thumb circled her clit, two of fingers probing her entrance. "Please."

The last of Oliver’s inhibition fled. He dragged her panties down her legs and threw them away before he rolled off of her to kick off his boxers, his erection bobbing up, painfully hard. His need for her was overwhelming but he stood there a moment, drinking in the sight of her sprawled out naked before him. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair fanned out across the pillows like a silver halo. The wetness on the inside of her thighs gleamed softly in the moonlight.

She cocked her head against the pillows, smiling up at him. “What are you thinking about?”

“That you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said honestly.

Felicity’s breath hitched. “Come here,” she whispered, spreading her legs a little further. Oliver crawled back onto the bed. Keeping her eyes locked firmly on his, Felicity reached between them and grasped his hard length. She pumped him a couple times, her thumb swiping across the sensitive tip. Oliver struggled not to push her hand away and shove into her right then and there.

“Felicity,” he begged.

“Tell me what you want, Oliver,” she murmured. Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip as she continued to stroke him. “Tell me.”

“Inside you,” he groaned. “I want to be inside you. Now.”

Her hand stilled. She kissed him long and deep. “Then be inside me.”

He pressed himself to her entrance. Felicity clung to him, forgetting to breath as he sank in to the hilt. She wiggled slightly beneath him. She felt impossibly full. No one else had ever made her feel this way. She was stretched to the breaking point, teetering on the knife edge between pain and pleasure.

Oliver kissed her softly. “You okay?”

She licked her lips, nodding fervently, every inch of her skin tingling with anticipation. “Please, Oliver.”

Oliver pulled out and thrust back in, hitting directly against her clit.

“Oh god,” Felicity gasped. Her hips rose instinctively to meet the next thrust. She nails dug into his shoulder blades, her heels sliding up his legs to press into the small of his back. He drove into her again and again and her whole body was on fire now, from her head down to her toes. Oliver reached down and slid his hand up the back of her thigh, pushing it up against her chest. Felicity moaned as the new angle made him sink deeper inside her. His next thrust stroked that sweet spot deep inside of her that only he had ever reached. Wetness flooded her center. “Don’t stop, Oliver. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

His thrusts sped up and Felicity wasn’t thinking anymore. The sound of skin slapping skin took over the room, joined only by their heavy panting. Oliver’s breath hot against Felicity's ear, his fingers digging sharply into her thigh. His mouth closed, hot and wet, over her nipple.

Shock waves of pleasure rolled over Felicity with every thrust. Oliver's hand fell between them and found her slick clit— she was hovering on the precipice— she was about to fall—

Oliver slammed against her once more and she tumbled over the edge. Her entire body wracked with aftershocks as he continued to pump into her, once, twice, three times, and he came with a shout, his back bowed before he collapsed on top of her with a loud groan.

They lay there a minute, trying to catch their breath. Felicity dragged her fingertips up and down Oliver’s spine, her walls continuing to flutter around him.

Slowly Oliver eased himself out of her. Felicity whimpered a bit at the sudden emptiness. Oliver rolled them onto their sides and pulled her tight against his chest, tucking her head directly beneath his chin.

“She loves me,” Oliver told the darkness.

Felicity laughed softly. “I do.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”

Her arms tightened around him. A soft blanket of contentedness tucked itself around them. They fell asleep tangled up in each other, gauzy shadows sliding slowly across the bed.


	11. Chapter 11

Felicity woke to a bird pecking at the windowsill. It flitted away as she opened her eyes— a dash of red against the pale blue sky. It was early: the clock on the beside table read 6:23. Oliver was still asleep beside her, sprawled on his back with one arm slung across his face. His chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. 

Felicity smiled into her pillow. Even when she and Oliver were together, it wasn’t often she woke before he did. Asleep, Oliver looked like a different man. The lines in his forehead smoothed out and his shoulders relaxed. He seemed so much younger, Felicity could almost believe she was peering through a looking glass at the young man he had been before the island. The one who still had a father and a mother and Tommy and countless others he’d since lost. The one whose skin wasn’t riddled with scars, who knew little of loss and less of pain. He wasn’t Felicity’s Oliver. Not the hero, the man she’d fallen in love with. Just some entitled rich boy she probably would have despised had she ever actually met him. Yet Felicity would have traded her Oliver for him in an instant if it meant she could save him from the suffering he’d later endure.

“You’d hate that,” she whispered to Oliver’s sleeping form. “But it’s true.”

The room fell silent. Felicity felt herself sink deeper into the mattress, sleep drawing her back into its embrace. She felt utterly warm and sated, and not entirely convinced this wasn’t all a dream. But then Oliver sighed heavily and rolled onto his side, facing her. His eyes fluttered open. The blue always looked softer just after he woke, like the sea after a storm.

“Hi,” Felicity said hoarsely.

“Hi,” Oliver echoed.

Dust twirled in the shafts of pale golden light beaming through the window. For once, Felicity found herself lacking words. She hadn’t planned this. Not coming back to Star City, not realizing she was still in love with Oliver. Not confessing her feelings. Definitely not sleeping with him. But it had happened, all of it. Felicity had no idea where they went from here; she only that she had meant what she said last night. Every bit of it.

“So—” Oliver began.

Felicity wrinkled her nose. “Please don’t say ‘that happened’.”

Oliver’s mouth curved into a smile. “Okay. I won’t say it.”

“Are we crazy?” Felicity said suddenly. “Doing this again, after everything we’ve been through.”

Before Oliver could respond, something buzzed loudly on the floor. Felicity traced it to the pile of clothes they’d abandoned the night before. “Your pants are ringing,” she observed. 

“Let them ring.”

“You’re the mayor, Oliver. What if it’s important?”

Oliver held out for a moment longer, then gave in as the phone continued to buzz. He slid out of the bed and snatched up the phone. “Hello?” 

While he listened, Felicity propped herself up on her elbow. With Oliver’s attention distracted, she was was free to linger on his body unabashed. There were several new scars alongside the old ones, the ones Felicity knew like the back of her hand. A three inch line of ghostly scar tissue across his collar bone. A red, star-shaped blotch the size of Felicity’s thumbnail above his right hip. That one was clearly a bullet wound. There had been a time when she knew the story behind each one of his scars but these new ones were a mystery to her. A physical reminder of that neither of them were exactly the same people they’d been two years ago. She felt a pang of regret and something else....longing. For a time, for a them, they could never get back.

“Okay,” Oliver said. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks for the head’s up.” 

Felicity sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Who was it?” 

Oliver ran a hand through his hair. “Alex. Apparently the press got wind of the bodies in the shipping containers. They want a comment from City Hall.”

“You have to go,” she said, knowing the answer.

“We should talk,” Oliver said. “The press can wait.”

Felicity smiled softly, shaking her head. “Go. Do your job. I’ll be here when you’re done. I promise.” 

For a moment, Oliver held her gaze and Felicity saw mirrored in his eyes the same cocktail of emotions swirling inside of her. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m out.”

Felicity pulled on an oversize t-shirt to walk him to the door. She caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess. There were make-up smudges beneath her eyes and Oliver had left a large purple hickey on her neck. 

They loitered awkwardly by in the doorway, neither knowing what to say. On impulse, Felicity rose up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. At the last second Oliver turned his head and their lips collided. After a moment of surprise, Felicity pressed back against him. Her hands twisting into the front of his shirt. His buried themselves in her hair. They clung to each other, neither willing to break the kiss. Even when their burning lungs finally forced them apart they didn’t go far. They lingered there, foreheads bent together.

“Sorry,” Oliver breathed. “I shouldn’t have.”

Felicity’s heartbeat was still thundering in her ears. She shook her head. “I’m glad you did.”

He tilted her face up gently. “I love you.”

The words came easily this time. “I love you, too,” Felicity whispered. 

Oliver’s body relaxed, just a tiny amount. He kissed her again, softly this time. It took all the willpower in Felicity’s body to push him gently away.

“Go,” she said, nodding to the door. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from reaching for him. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll be here.”

Oliver nodded. He kissed her forehead. Then he was gone. 

Felicity went back to bedroom. The sun was fully up by now. Her bed basked in pool of golden light. She crawled back into it and took out her laptop to try to get some work done. After fifteen minutes she pushed it away. There was no point pretending she could concentrate on anything other than Oliver. 

She got up and put on real clothes, shrugged on her jacket and grabbed her purse from the floor. She’d go for a walk. Back to the park, probably. It didn’t matter where. She just had to clear her head. 

Her phone rang as she pushed out the front door of the hotel into the bright sunshine but she didn’t hear it and the call went straight to voicemail. 

_Smoak, it’s Bruce. Call me as soon as you hear this. I have important information for our mutual friend…_

 

 

 

Oliver couldn’t concentrate. 

Every time a flashbulb exploded he saw Felicity. 

Felicity barefoot in the dark, telling him she loved him. Felicity biting her thumbnail as she smiled at him from her pillow. Felicity’s hair glinting gold in the sunlight. Her lips soft and pliant against his. Felicity. 

After the press conference, the rest of the day crept by at a glacial pace. By the time Oliver managed to escape Town Hall, night was falling. As soon as he got into his car, he took out his phone and dialed Felicity. It went straight to voicemail. 

_Hi, you’ve reached Felicity Smoak. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can._

“Hey, it’s me,” Oliver said. “Call me when you get this, okay? I’m out of work. I’ll come get you.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “This morning you asked me if this was crazy…whatever this is. It’s not, Felicity. It’s the opposite. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. The only thing….” he trailed off. “Anyway call me back.”

Five minutes passed as Oliver tapped his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. Ten minutes. Half an hour. The sky had gone full dark, clouds rolling in to blot out the stars. 

Felicity didn’t call back. So maybe she was in the shower. Or asleep. Or… Oliver couldn’t think of any other reason why she wouldn’t have her phone on her. It was practically an extension of her body. 

Unless… unless she was avoiding him. A stone settled in Oliver’s stomach. Maybe what had happened last night had freaked her out more than she’d let on. Maybe she’d just gotten carried away in the moment and now she regretted it. 

No, he decided. Felicity had never been good at hiding her emotions. And she wouldn’t have said she loved him unless she was sure. She was probably on a conference call. Or her phone had broken. There was some logical explanation. She was probably at the lair right now, waiting for him. 

Clinging to this conviction, Oliver drove to the his old campaign office. The clack of escrima sticks greeted him as the elevator opened into the lair. Dig and Thea were sparring on the mats but they dropped their weapons as Oliver walked up to them. Felicity’s chair was empty. His feeling of unease intensified. 

“Hey.” Thea frowned as she pushed her sweaty hair her out of her eyes. “What’s up? You don’t look so good.”

Oliver tried to keep his tone neutral. “Have either of you talked to Felicity today?”

“Not today,” Thea said. She dropped onto a nearby bench and took a long chug of water, then dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. “I tried to call her earlier to see if she wanted to grab dinner but she didn’t answer.” She shrugged. “Maybe she got caught up on a work call or something.”

“And you?” Oliver turned to Dig. “You haven’t talked to her?”

Dig rubbed the back of his neck with a small towel. “No. Is something wrong, man?”

“Probably not,” Oliver murmured. His fingers rubbed together anxiously. 

“What’s going on, Ollie?” Thea prodded. “Did something happen between you two?”

“No. Sort of. Yes.” Oliver waved away their curious looks. “But that’s not the point. Felicity’s not answering her phone and none of us have heard from her all day. It’s not like her.”

“You think something happened to her?” Dig asked. 

“I don’t know,” Oliver said stiffly. “I thought maybe she was just avoiding me because of what happened but—”

“What did happen?” Thea asked. Her eyebrows flew up. “Wait, are you two back together?” 

Oliver ignored the question. “But if she’s not answering your calls either… Felicity always has her phone. Always.”

Something shifted on Dig’s face. “Before we freak out someone should go to the hotel. Make sure she’s not there.”

Oliver nodded, gratefulness flooding through him. Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe Felicity had just fallen asleep working and they’d find her curled up in her bed, snoring softly. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

“I can do it,” Thea offered. “One of you should go to Wayne Tech office too, just in case she’s there—” 

A shrill beep cut her off. 

Thea wrinkled her nose. “What was that?”

Oliver took the steps to center platform in one stride.“It means someone’s trying to patch a call through our network.” _Felicity._ Oliver bent over one of the monitors, fiddling with the controls until the static on the screen cleared. For a moment the monitor looked into a dark, empty space, then a figure stepped into view. 

“Hello, Mr. Queen,” Mark Wilcox said pleasantly. He’d lost weight since their last fight. His cheekbones jutted out under his pale skin and there was a manic gleam in his dark eyes. Oliver suddenly remembered Wayne’s warning that Wilcox’s mental state would continue to decline. “Or should I say the Green Arrow?” Wilcox continued. “You know, I’m a little ashamed it took me this long to put the pieces together. Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you at dinner time but I believe I have something that belongs to you.” 

Wilcox shifted the camera. Tied to a chair beside him, her head lolling on her chest, was Felicity. Wilcox let the camera linger there for a moment before turning it back on himself. Oliver’s heart thundered against his ribcage as Wilcox’s mouth curved into a scythe like smile. “Now I’m just wondering— what are you willing to do to get her back?”


	12. Chapter 12

Oliver stood on a rooftop in Chinatown listening to the city breathe below him. Trucks rumbled across the ruptured pavement as drunken patrons stumbled out of the restaurant across the street, laughing. It was a cold night made colder by sudden gusts of cutting wind. Overhead, clouds chased each other across the dark sky; stars winking in and out of existence. The air felt frenetic, like world was struggling to hold itself together.

Or maybe that was just Oliver.

Was Felicity still unconscious? Or had she woken up by now, realized what had happened? Was she cold? Afraid? She had to know that they were coming for her. That Oliver would do anything to get her back.

Oliver didn’t hear Wilcox arrive as much as he suddenly sensed he was no longer alone. The other man slid out of the shadows like some kind of urban jungle cat sidled up to Oliver’s side. “Thank you for coming,” he said.

Oliver's eyes didn't move from the red paper lanterns bobbing outside the restaurant below. “Where is she?” 

“Safe. As she’ll continue to be as long as you uphold your end of the bargain.”

For a split second Oliver imagined throwing Wilcox to the ground, crashing his fist into the man’s face until he spit out Felicity’s location. Maybe a few of his teeth too. It was a satisfying thought but Oliver knew by now that he couldn’t beat Wilcox in hand to hand combat. He had to play the long game; keep Wilcox’s attention on him until John and Thea could find Felicity. “You still haven’t told me what it is you want me to do.” 

Wilcox pulled a thick hunting knife from a sheath at his waist and tested the point against the pad of his index finger; immediately a crimson bead sprung to the surface of his skin. “I told you I’m a fan of yours. Or I was at least. I was SCPD when the Hood first showed up. Before that, there was chaos in this city. Corruption ran the streets. My own superiors sold out and they didn’t even bother to hide it.” His lip curled in derision. “Then you started putting people down. Not just any people. The ones who thought they were untouchable. The ones who thought they were gods. You disavowed them of that notion.” 

The Hood. Sometimes Oliver still dreamed about that time of his life. Nightmares, really. Blood slippery against his fingers. Numbness: a black hole in his chest, eating him from the inside out. Alone, alone, always alone. 

“Since then,” Wilcox continued, “I’ll admit you’ve disappointed me. It’s my own fault really. You know what they say. Never meet your heroes. Still-” Wilcox was turning the knife over and over in his hands. It glinted sharply in the moonlight. He shrugged. “I’m a firm believer in second chances. Those fool scientists back in Gotham gave me a second chance. And now I’m going to give you one.”

Oliver’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. He wasn’t in the mood to play games. “A second chance to do what?”

“The right thing." Wilcox looked up from the knife. His eyes glittered eerily in the dark. “To bring justice back to this city.” 

Wind swept across the rooftop, scuttling leaves around their boots. Wilcox pointed his knife at the restaurant across the street. “Do you know who owns that restaurant?”

Oliver did. He’d had a feeling this was where things were headed the second Wilcox told him to meet him there. “Katsu Cheng. It’s a front for the Triad.”

Wilcox's voice was soft. “I know you’re the one who found the bodies in that shipping container. Can you really tell me the ones who put them there don’t deserve to die?”

The memory rose to the front of Oliver’s mind unbidden. The young woman pressed into the corner of the shipping container. Dead. A child plastered to her side. Dead. The little girl’s hair in braids. How long did they hold out hope they might be saved? Until the end? Or did they give up with hours to spare, close their eyes, and wait for the end to come? 

There was a dark part of him, a shadow self, that had imagined killing the Triad members many times over the past few weeks. Making them beg for their lives as the young woman would have begged, had she been given the chance. Oliver felt like he was walking in a nightmare. Clawed hands pawed at the darkest part of his soul, trying to set it free. 

“Is that what you want?” he said. “For me to kill them?”

“I could go one about how it’s not about killing them as much as it is righting the scales,” Wilcox said. “But really, yes, that’s the gist of it. I want you to kill them. I want you to remember what if feels like to rid the world of a monster. As soon as you do the blonde will be back in your arms-”

Oliver’s thoughts tripped over themselves, trying to catch up with the situation. John and Thea clearly weren’t having any luck finding Felicity themselves. If it came down to Felicity’s safety or the lives of murderers...was there really a choice to make? 

He heard himself say the words as if from very far away. “You’re right. They deserve to die.”

Wilcox’s teeth were bright against the velvet black night as he smiled. “I know you’d come around.” He pointed into the restaurant, through the window, to a young man looking bored behind the cash register. “Start with him.” 

Somewhere in the back of Oliver’s head a voice protested, _he’s just a kid._

As if Wilcox could hear him think he said, “He’s eighteen. Cheng’s son. Already diving head first in the family business. Murdered a shopkeeper last week for being two days late with his protection fee.” 

The young woman and the child were back. Oliver could hear them crying out for help. This boy- this man- was a part of that. Perhaps he’d locked them in there himself. 

Oliver pulled an arrow from his quiver. His hands shook slightly as he fit it into his bow. Everything felt heightened as he slid his fingers slid along the fletching. 

He raised his bow and took aim at the restaurant window. 

_I’m sorry, Felicity._

 

Felicity came to with the gasp of someone surfacing after too long underwater. For a moment she thought she’d gone blind; she was swimming in darkness, she was swallowed by it. She gulped down air, blinking rapidly.

Slowly her eyes began to adjust. The darkness pulled itself into faint shapes around her. She was in a large space; an old warehouse or a factory, abandoned. It smelled faintly of old leather. Shadowy walls thrust up to a high ceiling crisscrossed with rusted metal beams. Bits of the roof had caved in and patches of night sky burst through the openings. The stars winked teasingly at her; their light seemed even farther away than usual. 

She was tied to a chair. She wiggled, hoping against hope that her kidnapper had failed Boy Scouts 101 and sucked at tying knots. No such luck. All she achieved was making the thick rope chew painfully into the soft skin on the inside of her wrists.

_How?_

Felicity’s memory was a foggy thing, patchy and shifting. She remembered waking up beside Oliver that morning. She remembered going for a walk, needing to clear her head, missing him already. Her head ached from whatever her kidnapper had used to knock her out and her memories slid against each other like ice cubes in a plastic cup someone had left out in the summer sun. 

She had ended up at the duck pond. A man approached her. He had a Star City Rockets cap pulled low over his face. He asked for the time....

The man looked up; his face was gaunt, dark hair peeking out of the edge of his cap.

Mark Wilcox. 

Cold flooded through her. He had kidnapped her...why? 

You know why, a small voice whispered. Why else? He must have found out Oliver was the Green Arrow. Felicity was incentive to make Oliver do...something. She didn’t know what but she knew it couldn’t be good. 

Anger expanded in her chest, crowding out her fear. She refused to let herself be used against Oliver again. 

Mark Wilcox didn’t know who he was dealing with. 

In the corner of her eye, something glittered dully. Broken glass from one of the shattered windows that ran along the top of the wall. Felicity’s anger hardened to steely determination. If she could get to the glass, she might be able to use it to cut the rope...

 _Sorry, body_ , Felicity thought, _this is gonna hurt._

She took a deep breath and wrenched her body to the side. The chair crashed to the floor, Felicity with it. The impact stole the breath from her lungs. Her side cried out in pain as it slammed into the grimy cement.

It was possible Wilcox didn’t know how many times Felicity Smoak had been kidnapped. Maybe that was why he had left her alone while he went off to do his villainy worst. For whatever reason, he had. She was going to make him regret that decision.

Wriggling like a snake through tall grass, Felicity inched her way toward the glass. 

 

 

_I’m sorry, Felicity._

Oliver spun around and shot the arrow point blank into Wilcox’s chest. The other man barely flinched as he gazed down at the still shuddering shaft. “Well, that’s disappointing,” he said.

“I’m not you,” Oliver growled. “And I’m not the Hood.”

Sighing, Wilcox yanked the arrow out of his chest and threw it away. It clattered to the ground somewhere out of sight. “You try and do something nice.” His hand flashed for his waistline. A gun.

Oliver threw himself sideways. He hit the ground and rolled as heat seared across his upper arm. It was only a graze; the bullet buried itself in the aluminum vent behind them with a dull plink. 

Oliver flicked his wrist and a flechette sent Wilcox’s gun flying into the shadows around the edge of the roof. Oliver lunged forward. Wilcox stumbled back, his arms flying up to protect his face. Wilcox landed a blow to Oliver’s chin but Oliver barely felt it. He was pure adrenaline, pure ferocity. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Something was different. Oliver didn’t know if it was him, high on anger, or if Wilcox’s gaunt appearance hinted at weakening strength but Oliver was winning. 

The realization sent a second wave of adrenaline through his veins. He felt Wilcox’s nose crack beneath his fist. Blood poured down the other man's face. Wilcox's eyes widened; he seemed as surprised by the turning tide as Oliver. They were nearly at the edge of the roof now. Wilcox tried to go on the offensive, fingers scrabbled at Oliver’s neck but Oliver was ready this time. He broke the hold and turned Wilcox’s own technique against him, pressing his thumbs to Wilcox’s trachea. “Where is she?” he snarled. 

Wilcox’s feet scrabbled against the edge of the roof. He grasped Oliver’s wrist, spluttering. Oliver realized he was pressing too hard, Wilcox couldn’t get the words out. He loosened his grip just a fraction. 

“Fuck you,” Wilcox gasped. His teeth were stained red. “You don’t give fucking shit about this city.”

Oliver’s hands were the only thing keeping Wilcox from falling. A taxi sped by on the street below them. Oliver lowered his voice. He felt strangely calm. “Tell me where she is or I’ll let go.”

Would he? He didn’t know. Either way, Wilcox’s will to fight finally seemed to abandon him. He slumped in Oliver’s hands. “The corner of Grant and Mosner.” His teeth were stained red. “Old tannery.” 

Oliver yanked Wilcox back over the edge dragged him over to a cement block sticking out of the middle of the roof. Oliver tied Wilcox to it with a grappling wire from his belt. “Thank you,” he said, standing up. Wilcox’s chin lolled on his chest. Blood dripped sluggishly down the front of his black jacket. His eyelids fluttered groggily.

Oliver swaying slightly as he hit the comm on his chest. His head spun. “Spartan?”

Dig answered immediately. “We don’t have her yet, I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay,” Oliver cut him off. “I know where she is. Wilcox is tied up on the roof 16 Tyler Street. Can you come get him?”

There was a moment of silence then Dig said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Good,” Oliver said, and he hung up.

 

 

The chunk of glass cut into Felicity’s palms as she sawed at the rope binding her feet together. She had already freed her hands and she was almost through the thick rope around her ankles. 

It was cold but a bead of sweat ran down her forehead. She had no idea when Wilcox would come back but something told her she didn’t have a lot of time. If he got back before she freed herself...don’t think about that. 

She sawed faster. 

Her whole body ached; her shoulders from having her hands bound behind her back, her side from crashing into the ground, her hands from squeezed the glass. A second bead of sweat slipped free; it ran into her eye, stinging. Just a little more, she thought. Just a little-

The final strands of rope snapped. Felicity shoved the frayed thing off her ankles and tried to stand. She immediately collapsed back to the floor, both her legs asleep. “Crap, crap, crap.” She massaged her feet, trying to get the blood flowing again. Slowly her toes began to tingle. Slower this time, she got to her feet. 

A groan-like creak cut through the stagnant air: a door opening. Felicity froze. No, no, no. She was so close. Don’t let him him be back. Please don’t let him be back. 

Footsteps. 

Felicity’s hand tightened around the piece of glass, not caring that it was slicing into her palm. Warm blood trickled down her wrist, picking out spots on the dusty floor. 

A figure stepped of the shadows. Felicity’s heart raced as squinted at him in the darkness, unsure-- He took another step, this time into a patch of moonlight. Silvery light glimmered off the arrows in the quiver on his back. Felicity nearly collapsed in relief. “Oliver?”

He opened his arms. 

She ran to him.


	13. Chapter 13

Wind bit at Felicity’s arms and legs at the Ducati sped through dark, abandoned streets. Her cheek was warm though, pressed against Oliver’s back. 

They’d stopped at the lair so Oliver could change out of his suit. Now they turned out of a narrow alley that let out into the heart of downtown. Ahead of them a light turned red. Oliver slowed, stopped. Felicity struggled to keep her eyes open, her arms tightening around Oliver’s waist. 

“You okay back there?” His voice sounded very far away. 

Felicity nodded, too tired to form words. 

“We’re almost there,” he said. “Hold on.”

The light turned green. The Ducati lept into the darkness. 

A few minutes later, Oliver turned off the road into the parking lot of a tidy little apartment complex a few blocks from city hall. He parked in a spot marked ‘4.’ Felicity stumbled as she slid off the motorcycle but Oliver caught her elbow and righted her before she could fall. 

A small stone path led up to the front door of the building, framed by two carefully pruned rose bushes. Inside the lobby a small fountain bubbled softly. 

They got off the elevator on the fifth floor. Felicity followed Oliver down the hallway to the apartment at the very end. Oliver fumbled in his pocket for a moment before producing a small key. The door to the apartment creaked open and Oliver ushered Felicity inside, flipping on a lamp by the door and pulling the door shut behind them. 

Felicity hugged her arms to herself, looked around curiously. Much like the building itself the apartment effused an air of utilitarian comfort. It was nice. That was the best word Felicity could come up with to describe it. Everything looked relatively new and wide windows set into the east wall looked down onto a small courtyard below. And yet something about it felt off. It hit her all at once: everything in the apartment filled a purpose. It lacked the normal clutter of a lived-in space. No extraneous pillows or blankets on the couch, no half drunk mugs of coffee on the end table, no art on the walls. Anyone could have lived there, or no one. 

What is was: a nice apartment. 

What it wasn’t: a home. 

There was one personal touch: a large fish tank that took up part of one wall. Felicity drifted over to it. She laid her hand lightly against the cool glass. It felt nice against her injured palm. A bright yellow fish darted out of a clump of reeds and drifted up to her hand as if to say hello. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fish guy,” Felicity said. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. Rough like sandpaper. She glanced over her shoulder at Oliver. He was watching her with an unidentifiable expression on his face. 

“Thea got them for me.” His voice also sounded strange. Stilted. They were both holding something back, Felicity realized. Both afraid of something. She wasn’t sure what. Each other, maybe. Ridiculous. “I think she thought…” Oliver trailed off, shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Part of Felicity longed to know what he had been about to say. Part of her already knew. She turned back to the tank. “What are their names?”

Oliver fell in beside her. “That one’s Larry. The other two are Mo and Curly.”

“Good names,” Felicity murmured. 

Felicity caught sight of their reflection in the black window. In the dimly lit room, the tank gilded their features in a soft blue glow. They looked like aliens. She wasn’t sure she recognized either of them. 

“Wait here,” Oliver said. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared through a dark doorway that Felicity assumed led to the bedroom. A minute later he returned holding a small first aid kit and a damp washcloth. He nodded to the couch. “Sit.” 

Felicity slumped down onto the cushions and Oliver kneeled in front of her. He set the first aid kit on the coffee table. “Give me your hands.”

Felicity held them out. Oliver took them gently, his eyes darkening as he inspected the cuts and bruises on her hands and wrists. Using the warm washcloth he began to clean the dirt and grime from her wounds. Felicity’s skin bit and stung but she was almost too tired to care. 

“He hurt you,” Oliver said. On the surface his voice was steady, calm, but beneath the placid surface rushed a dark current of anger. 

“Wilcox hurt a lot of people,” Felicity said. “I’m pretty sure I got off easy.”

Oliver set down the washcloth and picked up a small tube of disinfectant. “He won’t hurt anyone else.”

Felicity hesitated then said, “You beat him then? For good?” 

Oliver nodded stiffly. “It’s over. Dig’s taking him to the lair now.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little strange? A few weeks ago you couldn’t land a punch on the guy. What changed?”

Oliver sat back on his heels. He dragged a hand down his dark stubbled cheeks. “I don’t know. All I know is that tonight felt different. Wilcox felt weaker. I think he might be sick. Or whatever those scientists did to him has some side effects we didn’t realize.”

A moment passed, the only sound the soft hum of the fish tank filter. 

“So it’s really over,” Felicity said.

Oliver was still holding one of her hands. He stared down at it, his thumb rubbed small circles into the uninjured part of her palm. “Yes.”

A strange feeling passed over Felicity. Relief. And something else. If Wilcox was caught, the drama with him over, then that just left...them. Her and Oliver and the jumbo jet of baggage they had between them. 

Felicity picked up the washcloth and began to dabbed at the gash above Oliver’s eyebrow. Oliver’s eyes drifted shut. He leaned his head into her hand. Once the wound was clean, Felicity spread it with disinfectant covered it with a small butterfly bandage she found in the first aid kit. 

“Thank you,” Oliver murmured. His eyes opened. They weren’t just blue. They were indigo and cornflower; navy and aquamarine. Cold as a glacial pool; hot as the center of a flame. 

Felicity burned. 

She slid her hand down his face until she was cupping his cheek, her thumb pressed into his bottom lip. Their breathing synced up, Felicity was sure of it. Their heartbeats too. A shiver trembled up her spine. “Anytime,” she murmured. 

“Do you want to take a shower?” Oliver said. 

She did. Partly because she was covered in grime from crawling on the warehouse floor. Partly because if she stayed under Oliver’s gaze any longer there was a pretty good chance she might actually burst into flame. 

Oliver led her to the bathroom off of his bedroom and handed her a towel. Felicity shut the door after him. For a moment she leaned back against it, swearing she could feel still him despite the solid barrier between them. On the other side of the door, Oliver inhaled and breath filled of Felicity’s lungs. Her heart thudded and blood rushed through Oliver’s veins. One person. Two souls. 

Felicity shook her head. She was being crazy. 

_Just take a shower, Smoak._

Felicity turned the water to the hottest setting and waited until the room filled up with steam before she stepped beneath the searing stream. A sigh slipped from her lips. She stood there a long time, letting the water pound the last vestiges tension from her shoulders. 

After, Felicity wrapped herself in the towel Oliver had given her. She felt infinitely better. The water hadn’t only washed away the dirt. It had also carried away the last of her fears, swirled them away down the drain with the rest of the dirty water. 

Oliver had left a clean shirt on his bed for her. A Star City Thunder tee. Felicity picked it up and pressed the fabric to her nose. The shirt had been worn soft by years of use. Beneath a thin layer of lemon fabric softener, it smelled like campfire. Sweet and woodsy. Felicity dropped her towel and tugged the shirt over her head. She flipped her damp hair out of the collar, then she went to find Oliver. 

She found him in the kitchen, standing at the stove with a spatula pressed into the most perfectly golden grilled cheese Felicity had ever seen. He looked around as she entered the room. Something about his eyes changed at the sight of her. “That’s a good look for you,” he said.

Felicity’s cheeks burned. She distracted herself by concentrating on the grilled cheese beneath Oliver’s spatula. Butter popped and sizzled around the bread’s crispy edge. The smell curled around Felicity in soft tendrils. She swallowed, forcing herself not to drool. “Please tell me that’s almost done. I could eat a horse.”

Oliver turned off the stove and slid the grilled cheese onto the large stack he’d already finished. “You’re in luck,” he said. “Come on, we can eat in the living room.”

They ate on the floor, a comfortable silence draped over them like a warm blanket. Felicity polished off three and a half sandwiches before her stomach refused to accept another bite. She dragged the her hand across her mouth and fell back against the bottom of the couch with a contented moan. “I am never eating again,” she declared.

Oliver raised an incredulous eyebrow. 

“I am never eating again until tomorrow night,” Felicity amended. “Tomorrow afternoon. Okay, fine I’ll probably have brunch or something. Stop giving me that look.”

The corner of Oliver’s mouth quirked. “What look?” He stood up. “I’m going to take a shower. Do you want anything else?”

Felicity shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I just consumed a full year’s worth of cheese. Trust me, I’m good.”

Felicity waited until Oliver disappeared into the bedroom and she heard the water come on. Then she stood up. The food had rejuvenated her. She felt a thrumming just beneath the surface of her skin. A need to do...something.

She walked over to the bookshelf next to the fish tank and dragged her finger along the spines of the books. Encyclopedias mostly. A book about sailing entitled _Fair Winds and Following Seas._

On the shelf below a photo of Oliver and Thea as kids sat in a silver frame. The siblings stood at the edge of a small pond holding kid sized fishing poles. Thea, a tiny dark haired thing, glowered at the camera while Oliver smirked, bright and bold as a young god. His blond hair had been bleached nearly nearly white by the summer sun, his skin deeply tanned.

His goldenness was blinding. 

Felicity set down the photograph. She wandered into Oliver’s bedroom. It was warmer in there, steam creeping out from under the bathroom door. Felicity walked over to the nightstand by Oliver’s bed. She opened the top drawer: socks. She shut that drawer and opened the next one. Inside she found a small notebook, a pen, a few loose coins. Felicity stared down at the notebook. She knew Oliver kept journals, he had ever since their summer road trip years ago. Her fingers itched to pick it up, to read what he’d written, but something stopped her. She closed the drawer. 

Felicity turned around. She was facing Oliver’s closet. She was snooping and knew she should stop but the thrumming beneath her skin rushed faster and she couldn't. She pushed the closet’s folding doors aside was met by rows of suits. She pushed them out of the way, looked down. Behind the suits, pushed up against the back of the closet sat three cardboard boxes. 

Felicity sat down on the carpet and pulled out the first box. It was filled with cookbooks: Ina Garten, America’s Test Kitchen, a worn leather bound journal stamped with the words “Bible of Southern Cooking.” Felicity ran her fingers across the grooved lettering. She remembered Oliver buying the book in a small antique shop just outside of Baton Rouge, bartering with the shopkeeper until the old man waved both hands at him in a gesture that said _enough!_ and told him to just take the damn thing. He’d been smiling though. They all had. After they moved to Ivy Town Oliver had used it almost daily. 

Felicity put the _Bible_ back and turned her attention to the second box. It smelled like smoke and held everything Oliver had managed to salvage from the Queen mansion after it burned. 

The third box. The third box had clearly been taped shut and reopened many times. It was open now though; Oliver must have looked at it recently. 

Somehow Felicity knew what was inside without looking. Part of her wanted to shove the box away, leave the painful memories in the back of the closet where they couldn’t hurt her. That was a lie though. It didn’t matter where the physical evidence lived. The past could never stay locked away. Felicity carried it with her everywhere she went. Felicity had tried to outrun the memories but running away to Gotham but it hadn’t worked. A part of her, a most important part, she’d left behind in Star City, in this apartment, in this closet, in this box. 

Felicity pushed back the flaps. 

Doctor Who DVDs, an MIT sweatshirt, a few single earrings. And there it was. Felicity’s hands shook slightly as she picked up the sonogram. The photo paper was slick against her fingers. She flipped it over. There, in her own handwriting, was the note she’d left for Oliver the day she found out for sure that she was pregnant.

 _Oliver— so that happened._  
_Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just wanted to be sure._  
_You’re happy right? I bet you are, you big sap._  
_We’ll talk when I get home from work._  
_I love you._

_-F_

Felicity pressed a hand to her mouth. Her throat felt raw, like someone had scraped it out with a spoon. 

Felicity had fallen so far into her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the water shut off. Didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Didn’t feel the tickle of steam against her skin or smell Oliver’s shampoo as he stepped out of the bathroom in a pair of grey sweatpants, his bare chest still gleaming from shower. It wasn’t until Oliver sank down beside her, said her name, that Felicity realized she was no longer alone.

“Sorry,” she whispered. She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. “I was snooping. I shouldn’t have.” 

“That talk,” Oliver said. “Maybe we should have it.”

Felicity’s thumb brushed across the sonogram. An entire life that could have been, should have been, was going to be. Wasn’t. 

The truth was welling up inside her, demanding, finally, to be let out. So she let it out. 

“I didn’t think I wanted kids,” Felicity said. Her thumb brushed across the sonogram again. “I don’t know when I decided. I just always knew. I watched my mom struggle to raise me. She was sad for a lot of my childhood. She tried to hide it from me but I could tell and I didn’t want that for myself. So I just decided I wasn’t going to do it. No kids. It didn’t seem like that much of a sacrifice at the time.” She exhaled, blinking back tears. 

“Then I met you.” Her eyes flicked to Oliver, lips curved into a wobbly smile. “And we fell in love. I’ve known you wanted kids from the moment you walked into Lyla’s hospital room the night Sara was born. The way you looked at her...like that was everything you ever needed wrapped in a tiny pink blanket. I should have told you so many time but it always seemed too soon to be talking about things like that. And everything just happened so fast. Before I knew it, I was peeing on a stick and those lines showed up...I panicked, Oliver. That’s why I went to the doctor’s alone that day. I was afraid you’d seen my face when they confirmed what I already knew and you’d realize that I didn’t...that I wasn’t sure.”

She paused, giving him time to come to terms with what she had said. 

“Did you want to…” Oliver struggled to ask the question without saying the words. “Were you thinking about…”

Felicity’s head jerked back to the sonogram. “For about a second,” she said softly. “But I couldn’t do it. Not ours. Not something we made.”

Oliver let out a long breath. “But you weren’t happy.”

Felicity felt the cage she’d built up around herself dismantling, crashing to the ground around her. The truth was setting her free. “No,” she said honestly. “Not at the beginning.” She held Oliver’s gaze, trying to read his reaction. She'd been so scared of this moment, scared of how Oliver would look at her when she told him the truth. The sadness in his gaze. The betrayal. But instead he mostly looked...relieved. Like he’d finally solved a puzzle he’d been struggling with for years. The thing was, he’d never had all of the pieces before this night.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

“There’s more,” Felicity said. 

He nodded: _Go on_

“The days went by,” Felicity said. “And it started to become more real. And I started to realize something. It wasn’t that I didn’t want kids. I’d just been terrified of doing it alone. Because whenever I’d tried to imagine myself as a parent that’s how it was. But I wasn’t alone. I was with you. And we were going to do it together. As soon as I realized that everything changed, Oliver. Everything. I started imagining myself as a mom for real. I started imagining us as a family. It was like I’d been stuck in this cloud and all of a sudden the sun burst through. I know that sounds cheesy but that’s how I felt. And I realized I wanted that baby. I wanted it more than anything. It just took me a while to realize.”

Felicity gathered up his hands in hers, squeezing them as though she could press her truth through his skin by osmosis. _Believe me_ , her hands said. He squeezed back: _I do._

“Do you remember the day I came home and you were looking at paint chips in the nursery?” Felicity said. 

Oliver smiled. Of course he did. “Spring mint.” 

“Yeah.” Felicity let out a hoarse laugh. How had she kept this inside for so long? She’d been such a fool. She felt so much lighter now, like air itself. “Yeah. That was the day I knew for sure. We were going to be fine. We were going to be better than fine.” Her smiled faded. “But we weren’t, really. Well...you know what happens next.”

Oliver cupped her cheek in his hand, his eyes soft as the sea after a storm. Felicity leaned into his hand, his palm warm and rough against her skin. “We lost the baby,” he said.

Felicity nodded. “I lost something I had only just realized I wanted. And I...I felt guilty.” Oliver started to speak but she cut him off, knowing what he was about to say. “Look, I know what the doctors said. I know they said it wasn’t anything that I’d done. That miscarriages just happens sometimes. Often, actually. But I couldn’t stop thinking that this was karma for not being happy when I first found out. And I couldn’t tell you because you were grieving too and I didn’t want to add to that pain by confessing that I had lied. Because I did lie. Every day I pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t, that was a lie.” 

“I should have told you what was going on in my head. After everything we’ve been through I should have trusted you with the truth. I don’t know why I felt like I couldn’t. I was scared, I guess. Scared and ashamed. And then I did the worst thing I could’ve possibly done. I ran away. I told myself that I was doing the best thing for both of us. That I just needed some time. That after a few weeks I would be myself again and I could come back and everything would be like it was before. But really I was just running. My whole life I was scared of being abandoned by the people I love most and in the end I’m the one who abandoned you. I’m so sorry, Oliver.” A tear rolled down Felicity’s cheek. She tasted salt on her tongue. “You deserve so much better than me.”

Oliver frowned. “I assume you remember that I spent a large part of our relationship thinking I didn’t deserve you. Wondering how someone like you could possibly want to be with someone like me. Do you remember what you told me?”

Felicity froze. Because she did remember. When had the tables turned so thoroughly? How had she forgotten something she knew so firmly to be true? “I told you that love doesn’t care who deserves what. It isn’t some prize you win for being a perfect person. It just is. That’s why it’s love.”

Oliver nodded, tucked a strand of hair behind Felicity’s ear. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. It was before. It still is. And you aren’t the only one who made mistakes. I did too. You were right when you said I always think I know what’s best for everyone. I didn’t end things because I wanted to. I did it because I honestly thought you’d be better off without me. That I didn’t deserve you. So I made the choice for you. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and I’ve done a lot of stupid things.”

Felicity laughed. “Dating the huntress-”

“Going off to fight Ra’s on a mountaintop,” Oliver interrupted. “Yes, I know.” He smiled. “And you know what? You were wrong about something else too. You said I looked at Sara like she was everything I ever needed. I wanted kids, Felicity. I still do. But I don’t need them. There’s only been one thing I’ve ever needed, one person I couldn’t live without-”

Felicity was shaking her head. “Oliver-”

“You, Felicity. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

It happened: Felicity burst into flame. 

“I’m never leaving you again,” she breathed, and oxygen rushed into Oliver’s lungs; his heart thundered and blood sang through her veins. 

One person. 

Two souls. 

“I wouldn’t let you if you tried,” Oliver replied.


End file.
